


Bittersweet Athenaeum

by Dramione84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramione84/pseuds/Dramione84
Summary: Draco Malfoy tracks down a rare potions book to a bookshop in the muggle seaside town of Brighton owned by one Mia Gordon. When he goes to appraise the book he finds more than he bargained for in the lonely seaside town. Cursed Child compliant story about depression.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to Starrnobella who wrote the articles for me and thanks to my sister for beta work. This story will be a slow burn. Enjoy x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. Much love to Starrnobella who wrote the newspaper articles for me and thanks to my sister who did the beta work. This will be a slow burn story with updates on the 1st of the month to begin with. Hope you enjoy this x
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Depression; Previous suicide attempt.

**A/N:** Usual disclaimers apply. Much love to Starrnobella who wrote the newspaper articles for me and thanks to my sister who did the beta work. This will be a slow burn story with updates on the 1st of the month to begin with. Hope you enjoy this x

 **Trigger Warnings:** Depression; Previous suicide attempt.

* * *

**War Heroes Power Couple Files for Divorce**

**May 2020**

Lavender Brown

LONDON - It was a romance for the ages that many people were lucky to witness from the halls of Hogwarts to the battlefield of the Wizarding War. Unfortunately this romance has come to an end.

Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger have officially filed for divorce bringing an end to their seventeen year marriage. This has been confirmed by Ms. Granger's lawyer, Gregory Milligan, in a statement released to the press earlier today.

"The decision to file for divorce was agreed upon as being the best for the health of the family," Mr. Milligan said in a statement, "Ms. Granger will not be commenting and is asking that the media gives her family privacy during this time as the divorce is finalizing."

Mr. Weasley's lawyer released the following statement, "We know that this announcement comes as quite the shock to the public, but it has been decided that this is best for both parties involved. My client, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger are splitting amicably. There are no hard feelings between them."

Granger and Weasley were wed shortly after the Wizarding War ended in 1998. Close friends with Harry Potter, Granger and Weasley's relationship has spent a lot of time in the public eye. Sources claim that this may be a possible reason for their divorce.

* * *

**Minister of Magic Resigns**

**August 2020**

Lavender Brown

LONDON - Three months following her divorce from Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger announced today that she was resigning from her position as the Minister of Magic.

In the small press conference this afternoon, Ms. Granger explained her situation saying that it was "time for a change of pace."

Her full statement can be found below.

"Hello everyone, thank you for coming today and listening to me speak. It is with a heavy heart that I resign from my position here at the Ministry of Magic.

I have come to a point in my life where I need to focus on what is best for myself and my life. As well as what is best for my children.

It is time for a change of scenery. I have been involved with this department since the end of the Wizarding War and it is time for me to step down.

Thank you to the Ministry for understanding about my time to leave. I have truly enjoyed my time here and I will miss the friends that I have made here."

* * *

**October 2022**

* * *

The wind swirled, howling hauntingly around her, lifting her curls and chilling her as the waves crashed on the jagged coastline below, the spindrift spraying up. She could have sworn the mist reached her face as she pulled her cardigan tighter around her lithe frame. She turned from the coastline, making her way along the little worn out path along the clifftop, back to where she had left her battered Mini in the carpark. Nodding politely at dog walkers, her head down a little as she silently ignored the melancholic melody of the beauty spot known as Beachy Head. She wasn't sure what drew her here, only that fate had marked this place for her, forever sealing the bond between her and her only friend.

Digging her hand into the pocket of her cardigan, she pulled out her keys, her fingers numb from the cold. She cursed herself for not wearing gloves as she fumbled with the lock but she never did, perversely relishing in the way the October winds caused her to feel nothing. Shivering, she turned on the ignition, flipping the heater on as she slowly backed out from the space and made her meandering way back along the coastal road.

The little bell above the door signalled her return as she pushed open the battered door.

"You're back," the raven haired woman sitting behind the counter stated, her relief audible. Slipping off the stool, she made her way around unopened boxes of books, heading into the back room.

"I told you I wouldn't be long," Mia called as she made her way over to the fireplace. Taking the box of matches from the mantel, she knelt down to the grate she had prepared earlier, the hiss of the match as she struck it to life reverberating around the room. Touching it to the newspaper, she watched as the flames caught the kindling.

The raven haired woman returned carrying a tray filled with a pot of tea and two cups and a steaming bowl of soup.

"I don't know why you go up there in this weather," she muttered, pouring them both some tea.

Mia's hands wrapped around the cup, the warmth pulsing life back into her numb fingers until it was too much for her to bear and she placed the cup down.

She made to get up, but her companion touched her hand to Mia's. "Here, let me," she smiled, as she got up and reached into the wicker basket next to the hearth. Pulling out two bone dry logs, she placed them on the fire, the flames dancing around them as the last of the newspaper crisped away.

"Thanks, Pansy," Mia murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

Pansy settled back into her chair, lifting her cup to her lips with a smile. "Freeze."

Sipping his tea, Draco took the post and the morning edition of ' _The Prophet'_ from the elf who stood waiting patiently by his study door.

"Thank you Jude," he smiled, his eyes immediately drawn to the letter with his son's scratchy penmanship.

_Father,_

_Thank you for the sweets you sent me last week. Everything here is great and I am really enjoying being back here. I cannot wait for Halloween! McGonagall says we will have a ball this year. How great is that?_

_I think Albus is worried about his cousin, Rose. She seems very withdrawn and spends a lot of her time in the library. I think she misses her Mum, although I am sure she sees her in the holidays. I kinda know how that feels though. Missing your Mum. But she has a big family around her. Albus doesn't seem to have that. I mean, I know they are all part of the same family, but it's still very tough for him at home sometimes. Can we invite Albus home for Christmas? Please?_

_Love_

_Scorpius._

Draco folded the letter thoughtfully, images of Rose's Mother in the library unexpectedly flowing through his mind. He could quite imagine Rose as being exactly like her Mother, nose pressed into a book, shutting herself away in the deepest corner of the library. Belatedly, he realised he was smiling at the thought before wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to Hermione Granger.

The roar of the floo broke his reverie and he looked up from his desk to see his best friend, Theo, striding into the room.

"Are you still looking for that book?" Theo asked, foregoing the formality of greeting as he dropped into the chair opposite Draco's desk.

Draco furrowed his brow. "Which particular book?"

"That rare, first edition of 'Moste Potente Potions', " he grinned, as he rested his ankle on his knee.

Draco's eyes widened. "Yes. Why?"

"Pierce has found it. In some muggle bookshop down in Brighton," Theo informed him nonchalantly, referring to his antique dealer who, for the right sum, could be relied upon to source rare items.

Draco frowned. "Brighton?"

"Some muggle seaside resort on the south coast. He is in talks with the woman who owns the shop. Mia Gordon."

"Witch or muggle?" Draco asked, eyes narrowing in thought.

"Pierce couldn't tell. Apparently she is a very vague person to deal with," he waved his hands dismissively. "Anyway, he needs to know what your top price is."

"Anything," he replied without hesitation.

Theo looked up from inspecting his perfectly manicured fingers in surprise.

"I will need to inspect the copy to see if it's the exact one I am after, but if it is, then I will pay whatever this Mia Gordon asks for it," Draco informed him, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"I'll have Pierce make the arrangements."

Ginny opened the door, greeting Draco with a kiss on the cheek as she took his coat. "Harry's in the kitchen" she told him, gesturing down the hall.

"You off out?" he asked, watching as she touched up her lipstick in the hall mirror.

"Yea, Luna is in town so we thought we would head out to Muggle London for a couple of drinks. "Be good boys!" she called, before winking at Draco and heading out the door.

Harry was at the fridge as Draco stepped into the kitchen. "Beer mate?"

Draco nodded, taking the bottle with thanks, twisting off the cap deftly. It still felt bizarre sometimes that they were friends. But after the events of their boy's first year at Hogwarts, it seemed necessary to call a truce. With much encouragement from Ginny they had quickly found they had a lot in common and a tentative friendship had formed. Before long they had developed a ritual of Draco stopping by Grimmauld Place on a Friday night after Harry got in from work and every other Sunday he came around for dinner. He had expected that becoming friends with Harry would automatically mean forced socialising with Ron and Hermione, however they had separated the Summer between Scorpius' first and second year, divorcing soon after and then Hermione had unexpectedly resigned. Draco had been left with a mixture of feelings; relief that he wouldn't have to spend time with Ron Weasley, who to this day annoyed the fuck out of him, and intrigue as to what had caused Hermione to divorce her husband, leave her job and effectively disappear from the wizarding world, all in the space of six months.

In the beginning, he had bugged Harry constantly about Hermione's departure. But he had remained tight lipped. Two years later, he had stopped asking and started employing his Slytherin skills, storing any mention of her name, trying to piece together what had happened. So far, he was no closer to finding her than he had been two years ago. Why he felt the need to find her however, was still a mystery to him.

"Scorpius wrote me a letter this week" he began, taking a pull from his beer.

Harry looked up from the sandwich he was making.

"Oh? Everything alright?"

"Yea" Draco sighed "He's worried about Albus though"

Harry fixed his eyes on Draco, waiting for him to elaborate.

"He thinks Albus is worried about Rose. Get this" his eyes twinkled, as he put his beer on the counter "She seems to be hiding out in.."

"The library" Harry finished with a laugh. "Like Mother, like daughter!"

Draco laughed with him for a moment before growing serious. "He thinks she misses her Mum."

Harry nodded. "I think we both can relate to that in a way" he replied, somberly. "She spent some time with her in the Summer but it must be hard for them both."

"Harry, why did Hermione go away, leave her job and her family like that?" Draco asked.

Harry sighed. "It's not my story to tell, Malfoy."

"But you must know where she is and why she left like that?" he insisted, quietly.

"The Incident" he stated, referring as they did to the events of their boy's first year at Hogwarts. "It opened old wounds. For all of us, for sure, but for Hermione, it was harder. Facing up to things she had thought were buried deep" he explained, sighing heavily. "Hermione has always been one to do what Hermione thinks is best. She felt this was for the best. She needed to get away from all of it."

Draco took another pull from his beer, buying himself a little thinking time while he considered whether to ask the question that was forming on the tip of his tongue.  
"So she's in the Muggle world somewhere?"

Harry nodded. "That's all I can say, Draco. Honestly."

Draco nodded in reply. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.

* * *

A/N: Written in collaboration with the marvellously talented Starrnobella who penned the articles for me. Beta love to my sister who cast her editorial eye over the chapter. This story will be a slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Written in collaboration with the marvellously talented Starrnobella who penned the articles for me. Beta love to my sister who cast her editorial eye over the chapter. This story will be a slow burn.


	2. Chapter One

Coming down the stairs from the flat above her shop, Mia felt herself shiver a little as she stepped over books that were stacked in little piles on the lower steps.  She hated mornings.  It was so hard just dragging herself out of bed when all she really wanted to do was hibernated under the covers and forget the world existed.  Her stomach twisted in knots at the feeling: in another life she had loved rising early, ready to face the world head on, embracing every challenge with zeal.  She felt disjointed from this reality: out of sorts, her movements alien to her as she moved through her morning ritual in a zombie like daze.  

 

She heard Pansy rise, moving about the flat above her as she put the kettle on the stove.  Preparing the tea with a practiced autonomy, she glanced at the unpacked boxes that sat next to the counter where the delivery driver had left them three days ago.  The kettle whistled, causing her to jump slightly and she returned her attention to the tea as Pansy came jogging down the stairs in a zig zag to avoid tumbling the books.

 

“It’s raining out this morning.  I don’t suggest you head up to ‘Beachy Head’ today” she informed her, raising an eyebrow.  

“No, you’re right.  Besides, I really need to get a start on those boxes” Mia replied, handing Pansy a cup of Earl Grey.

Settling into the chair at the kitchen table, she opened her laptop to check her emails.

 

To: [ miagordon@calliopeantiquarianbooks.org.uk ](mailto:miagordon@calliopeantiquarianbooks.org.uk)

From:  [ piercedunne@morganfrayauctions.co.uk ](mailto:piercedunne@morganfrayauctions.co.uk)

Subject: Occult books

 

Dear Ms Gordon

 

Thank you for your prompt reply to my enquiry about your listing.  My client would like to arrange an appointment for appraisal prior to purchase.  

I look forward to hearing from you in due course.

Warm regards

Pierce Dunne

 

Mia leant back in her chair running through her diary in her head.  The shop seldom had customers, tucked as it was down a lonely side street in Kemptown, just down from ‘The Lanes’ and it being the close season meant there were very few tourists in the town.  She was pretty sure she had no pressing engagements or appointments.  

 

Poised to reply she was momentarily distracted by the bell above the door to the shop.  Draining the remains of her tea, Pansy wandered out as Mia listened, fingers hovering above the keyboard.  Hearing Pansy shriek her greeting, she smiled to herself as she rolled her eyes.

“Where the bloody hell have you two been?” She heard Pansy cry.

“This one had ‘Man flu’ so I have been tending to him” came the warm Scottish tones that hummed through to the kitchen.

“Actual flu, if you don’t mind” the gruff reply reverberating in the small shop.

“Well, where is she?”

“I’m in here” called Mia, clicking reply.

“We are very sorry we missed your birthday darling,” the Scot told her as he came through to the kitchen, brandishing a chocolate cupcake with dark frosting that was piped to look like a rose. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her cool cheek with a dramatic ‘Mwah.’

“You, my dear, are far too cold,” he chastised.  “Marcus, light that damned fire,” he bellowed, tuting as Mia rolled her eyes.  “Honestly, Oliver, I am fine.”

“Yes, well colour me surprised at your statement,” he chuckled.  “But I donach believe ye,” he told her, deliberately thickening his accent as he crossed back into the shop leaving her to send her reply.

 

To: [ piercedunne@morganfrayauctions.co.uk ](mailto:piercedunne@morganfrayauctions.co.uk)

From: [ miagordon@calliopeantiquarianbooks.org.uk ](mailto:miagordon@calliopeantiquarianbooks.org.uk)

Subject: Re: Occult Books

 

Dear Mr Dunne

 

I would be more than happy to welcome your client Wednesday 11am.  I have linked the shops location below.

We are located at 11 Prince’s Street, Kemptown, Brighton, BN2 1RD.

Kind regards

Mia Gordon.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Watching the amber liquid ebb and flow against the crystal edges of the tumbler, Draco let his mind wander unchecked for a few moments before knocking back the Firewhiskey, relishing the way it burned the back of his throat.  Closing his eyes, he leaned into the wingback chair, listening to the cracks and hisses of the fire in his study.  A small coughing sound interrupted his thoughts and his eyes snapped open, his head dropping forwards as he regarded the small house elf that stood before him.

“Sorry Master.  Owl for you Master.” The elf looked away as he proffered the note.

“Thank you Jude”

 

_Draco_

 

_Wednesday 11am._

_11 Prince’s Street_

_Brighton._

_Catch the train to Clapham Junction then change for Brighton._

 

_Theo._

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Wednesday morning, Draco sat in the first class carriage of the express train into Brighton.  The countryside of Surrey and Sussex sped past his window as he read the Muggle Financial Times and sipped what passed for coffee in the little kiosk on Clapham Junction station.  The liquid scolded his tongue, causing him to hiss.  Frowning as he sniffed the pungent dark liquid, he quietly mused how something of this colour could taste of nothing at all, except the sweetness that assaulted his nostrils, telling him the barista had burnt the milk.  Grimacing with disgust, he placed the paper cup on the little tray alongside the window as the train slowed into the Victorian station at Brighton.  

 

Briefcase in hand, he melted into the crowd of commuters who made their way along the concourse, spilling out onto the street outside.  He shielded his eyes, squinting at the early morning autumn sunlight as it streamed through the glass overhanging the taxi rank.  Glancing at his wrist watch.  10:20am.  He considered getting a taxi to Grand Parade but decided to walk the short distance to the shop, retrieving the instructions Theo had copied from the map Pierce had given him the day before from his jacket pocket.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

The bell above the door signalled its disapproval at the way Mia came rushing through the door, pulling off her jacket and scarf.  Despite the Autumn sunshine that caused the cliffs of ‘Beachy Head’ to glisten like polished marble, there was a deep chill in the air that had forced her to wrap up warm for her morning trek.  

“Oh good, you’re back.  You do realise your eleven o’clock will be here shortly, yes?” Pansy chided as she sat cross legged on the floor cataloguing one of the boxes.

“I know, I know,” Mia sighed, hanging up her things, smoothing non existent wrinkles from her clothes as she tried to make herself look presentable.

“I’ll get the kettle on,” Pansy told her, rising, shaking out her cramping legs.  “I’ve been sat on the floor too long anyway,” she smiled as she headed into the kitchen.

 

Mia took up the place Pansy had vacated on the hardwood floor, reaching for her pad.  Head inside the box, she heard the bell go, the draft causing the exposed skin above her waistband where her shirt had ridden up to chill as the door remained open.

“I’ll be right with you,” came her muffled voice, frowning as she noted the gentleman had yet to close the door.

Pulling herself upright, book in her left hand, pad still clutched in her right, she turned to greet her customer, a smile bright across her face.  In an instant, she felt her heart race, her blood chill slightly, as her stomach plummeted to her feet, the smile falling.  Her numb fingers dropped the book and pad with a loud thud on the hardwood floor as she stared dumbfounded at the equally shocked blond man stood in her shop doorway.

The man found his voice before she could find it in her to utter a single syllable.

“Hello Hermione.”

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Reaching into the cupboard, Pansy pulled down Hermione’s favourite teacup as the kettle signalled its readiness.  Pouring the water onto the tea bag, she heard the door go in the shop and reached for another cup for their customer.  Stirring the tea, she scowled as she realised she had yet to hear the door close.  

“Let all the warm air out why don’t you,” she muttered under her breath as she dropped the tea bags into the trash.  Startled by the thud that reverberated from the main room of the shop, she smacked her head on the counter.  Without pausing to register fully the pain that throbbed in her head, she rushed from the kitchen to investigate the cause, slightly concerned by the distinct lack of any other sound following it.

“Hermione?” she called, crossing the threshold between the kitchen and the shop.  Eyes searching for any indication as to what had transpired moments before, they fell first on Hermione who stood rooted to the spot by the counter, all trace of colour drained from her face.  Confused and admittedly a little afraid, her vision of the door blocked by a bookcase, she heard the familiar voice greet Hermione.  Clutching her chest, she stumbled past the bookcase, eyes locking on the man like a ghost from her past as though the last 21 years had rolled back in the blink of an eye.

“Draco?” she managed, her voice coming out as little more than a coarse whisper that dragged from her throat painfully.

Whipping his head around at the sound of his name, he reeled, reaching for the little metal bistro chair, slumping into it, the shock emanating from him as he glanced from Pansy to Hermione and back again.

“Fuck,” he managed, totally unprepared for the sight of either woman.

A strangled sob broke from Pansy as she found her way to the other bistro chair, reaching across the aluminium table in between, clasping the pale hand that grasped it’s edge as if struggling to find something to ground him as his reality spun quickly out of control.

 

Somehow, Hermione found herself reaching under the counter for the lone emergency bottle of Firewhiskey.  Movements wooden, she handed Draco the bottle, watching silently as he unscrewed the cap, unsure which witch to let his eyes fix on, settling finally for Pansy as he took a long pull from the bottle, almost choking.  

“I thought you were dead.”  His loaded words came out half whined, half accusatory before he rounded on Hermione, irrational anger building.  “And you!” he pointed at her, eyes narrowing. “Where the fuck have you been? You just took off! What happened?”

Hermione stumbled backwards, shocked at his words.  

“Me?” she choked, as her cheeks flushed at his words.

“Yes, you,” he confirmed.  “You were a shining beacon in a world that needed guidance; in a world where _children_ tried to make amends for the actions of their parents.”

“That’s exactly why I left, Malfoy.”

Sensing the tone, he let out a heavy sigh.  “I’m sorry, Hermione.  It’s just a shock.  You have no idea.” He gulped, eyes fixing on her hazelnut orbs that shone with unshed tears. “I wanted to find you.  I’ve spent the last two years looking for you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she took in his words. “Me? Why?”

Draco swallowed hard. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Pansy’s knuckles turned white from the death grip she had on her cup of tea.  Taking deep steady breaths, she tried to stop the images flooding across her mind, causing her heart to pound in her chest and her fingers to tremble.  Draco watched as Hermione placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, concern etched on her face as she helped calm her friend from the panic attack.

“Why don’t you go for a lie down?” Hermione quietly suggested.  Pansy’s eyes snapped round and she nodded slowly before she excused herself.  

Draco waited until he was sure Pansy was upstairs before turning to Hermione who was now sat in the chair that Pansy had vacated.  

“She sees a therapist twice a week but it’s still hard for her, even now,” Hermione confessed, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Draco nodded.  “I haven’t seen her since the Battle of Hogwarts.  The dungeons were completely obliterated.  We…” Draco gulped. “Blaise and I went back.  There were so many bodies…” his voice trailed off.

Hermione placed her hand over his.  “I didn’t know.  After I moved here, I bumped into her.” She paused, remembering how they met.  Draco was not ready for the details.  “She told me what happened that night.  The shock.  Seeing all the death and destruction.  The literal blood on her hands.  It was too much.  She needed to get as far away as possible.  Staying in guest houses, paying for her bed and board by helping out, she slowly made her way down the coast.  Until she ended up here.”

Draco wet his lips as his eyes settled on the warm hand that still grasped his own as his mind struggled to make sense of what his childhood friend had gone through.

“I should have been there for her.  I know….how that feels. To be so alone.”

Hermione squeezed his hand causing him to meet her warm gaze with his own grey eyes.

“You didn’t know.  She is doing better now though.  Therapy is helping her,” she reassured him.

“And you?” he asked quietly.

Hermione pulled her hand away, tucking stray curls behind her ear as she avoided the intensity of her gaze.  

“My issues are different,” she responded vaguely.

 

Draco opened his mouth to speak but Hermione interrupted him, quickly rising from her seat, suddenly a flurry of activity.

“I forgot.  You are obviously here about the book,” she rushed, heading to where the boxes were still sat half unpacked by the counter.

Reaching into the box, she pulled out the first edition ‘Moste Potente Potions’ that he had come to appraise.  Brushing loose curls away from where they fell in front of her face, she placed it on the counter.

“Hermione.” His voice was quiet as he watched her from where he sat.  “I’m in no hurry.  You however are avoiding answering my question properly.

Hermione sighed. “What do you want me to say, Draco?” she asked him softly.  “I felt suffocated. What happened with the kids, it reopened wounds.  I didn’t recognise myself in the mirror anymore.”

Draco stood, crossing the room, taking her hands in his.  “I understand a little of how that feels too.”

“I just felt so alone,” she whispered.

“After Astoria died, I felt that way too,” he confessed.

Hermione gasped, her hand clasping over her mouth.  Confused, Draco’s steely eyes searched hers.  

“What?”

“Astoria.” Hermione whispered.  “Pansy doesn’t know.”

 


	3. Two

Draco sat with his hands laced into his blond locks, his forehead resting on the heels of his hands. Moving a small pile of books from beside him, Hermione nestled on the stair next to him.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, leaning into his shoulder. "Until today, it just never crossed my mind."

Dragging his hands down his face, he groaned slightly. "It's okay. This day, it's just...a little weird," he told her quietly turning to face her, a half smile ghosting across his lips.

Breaking eye contact, she glanced down at her silver wrist watch, a present from Harry for her 21st birthday.

A small chuckle emitted from her lips, "Yea and sorry, but I have a feeling that the day is about to get a whole lot weirder."

Frowning, Draco opened his mouth to ask her why but was interrupted by the bell complaining as the front door burst open. "Yoohoo," Oliver called as he strode into the shop. "Through here," Hermione called, lifting up from the stairs, stepping into the kitchen.

"My god woman, you look wretched, who died?" Oliver drawled, reaching out to lift her chin up, inspecting the dark circles under her eyes.

"Poor choice of words," Hermione muttered as she smacked Oliver's hands away. "Where's Marcus?" she asked him quietly.

"I'm right here, girl," he replied, quirking an eyebrow as he entered the kitchen, arms full with paper bags. "What can I do for you?" he smirked as he placed the bags on the counter.

"I think you ought to sit down for this," she gestured to the farmhouse table and chairs that took up most of the cramped kitchen.

Oliver's face paled as his eyes darted from Hermione to Marcus and back again. "Is someone _actually_ dead?" he asked her, glaring at Marcus as he pulled out a chair, the legs dragging loudly on the slate floor. "Must you do that?" he snapped as Marcus rolled his eyes.

"No, nobody is dead," Hermione huffed rolling her eyes. "Good God, just sit down would you?"

"Jeez, it's like a soap opera. Just come out with it would you, so we can have lunch, woman!"

"Remember I had that client coming today," Hermione began, choosing her words carefully.

"The one who was interested in the potions book?" Oliver frowned, his eyes narrowing for a moment before going wide. "Was he a hot wizard? Did you get his number?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, Oliver, let me explain would you!"

Oliver held his hands up in defeat, smirking at Marcus who just rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked at her friends. "The buyer is Draco."

"Draco?" Oliver frowned, "as in…"

"As in Me." Draco drawled, stepping into the kitchen from the back stairs.

"Does Pansy know?" Marcus asked Hermione, eyes fixed on Draco, the intensity of his gaze causing Draco to shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed as Marcus shifted his gaze to meet hers. They shared a look, silently communicating before Marcus silently rose from his chair. Pushing past Draco, he jogged up the back stairs two at a time.

Turning in her seat, Hermione nodded for Draco to come sit at the table. "I told you the day was going to get weirder," she reminded him, a small sympathetic smile breaking across her features.

"So…." Draco began, nervously.

"Oliver and Marcus own the cafe on the corner. They always bring us lunch on Wednesdays," Hermione explained.

"Oh, right!" Oliver jumped up, grabbing plates from the cupboard and opening the paper bags that lay forgotten on the kitchen table. "Lucky we always bring too much!" he chuckled, plating up sandwiches and pastries. Hermione made to get up, but Oliver put a hand on her shoulder. "Sit! I can make tea without supervision," he smirked.

"Are you sure?" Hermione quipped, with a wry smile.

Hermione turned to Draco but they were interrupted by the sound of Marcus thundering down the stairs.

"How is she?" Oliver asked as Marcus came into the kitchen. "Asleep. I'm going out for a cigarette," he told Oliver, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he squeezed Oliver's shoulder.

"Okay, love," Oliver replied, watching Marcus retreat out the back door to the small courtyard.

Draco put down his teacup. "I should go."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Stay. Please."

Draco turned to Hermione, shocked at the insistence in her voice.

"Seriously. Once she wakes up, she will want to talk. Did you arrange a place to stay or had you planned on traveling back today?" she asked.

"I hadn't planned anything either way," Draco replied.

"Well, you are more than welcome to stay here. We have a spare room upstairs." Hermione told him, eyes searching his with her silent plea. She wasn't sure what made her suggest he stay, only that somewhere deep inside, it felt right.

Draco met her look, unsure what was pulling him to her, only the feeling that seemed ever just beyond his grasp, an intangible need to be near her. Like a thread that seemed to connect the two of them; a thread he hadn't known existed until she was suddenly back in his life two years ago and then gone again just as suddenly.

Without another thought he found himself agreeing. "Okay."

Upstairs, Hermione showed Draco around the small flat. The back stairs opened up into a small lounge, the small spare room overlooking the narrow street below. Next to his room was a small bathroom with a shower. Overlooking the courtyard area where Marcus and Oliver sat, huddled together quietly on a small wooden bench, were the girl's rooms. Hermione's was slightly larger with an en suite shower and a small balcony which she had filled with potted plants. A wooden deck chair that had seen better days sat taking up most of the room.

"It's small I know, but it's cosy," Hermione told him, her tone almost apologetic.

"I've learned over the last couple of years that it's not the size of the space, it's how you fill it, and most importantly, who you fill it with," Draco told her as he glanced at the photos that sat on top of her dresser. The photos were a mix of muggle and magical, showing her with Harry and Ron during their school days, her with her children, her with Pansy and the two of them with Marcus and Oliver. He picked up one of the central photos where Pansy was snuggled in Marcus's lap on the sofa in her living room, Oliver's arm draped over Marcus' shoulders as Hermione leaned in between them from behind the sofa. Closing the door to her little balcony, she turned to see Draco smiling at the photo.

"You look good together."

"Thank you, that's one of my favourite photos. It was taken last Christmas. Rose and Hugo had gone to 'The Burrow'. Marcus and Oliver spent the day with us."

Draco's heart clenched at the hurt in her voice.

"She misses you."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "Rose?"

Nodding, he placed the photo back on the dresser, reaching into his jacket pocket, retrieving the parchment he carried with him, worn from reading it several times already.

Silently she took it, opening it up. Draco watched her features soften, his eyes dropping to her lips as they parted in a soft chuckle at Scorpius' words, seeing herself in the image of her daughter through the boy's eyes.

"Does he have a thing for her?" she asked, touched at both boy's apparent concern for her daughter.

Draco chuckled heartily, his eyes shining with humour. "Not likely; Harry and I are almost certain he and Albus are in love."

"Really?"

Draco nodded his confirmation.

"Well." She smiled. "If ever the wizarding world needed confirmation of the reformation of Draco Malfoy, there you have it."

Hermione sat with her feet drawn up on the sofa, hands clasped around a cup of tea, her body turned in to face Draco who sat on the other end of the sofa. Hearing the soft thuds of her friends coming up the back stairs she lifted her gaze, smiling at Marcus as he entered the living room, Oliver close behind.

"You'll let me know when she wakes up, yeah?" he asked, eyes flickering over at Draco before settling intently on Hermione.

"Of course, but it might not be today. Last time she was asleep for a solid fifteen hours," she told him quietly.

Marcus nodded. "I take it you're staying then?" his measured tone was directed at Draco.

"I asked him to. She will want to talk to him," Hermione told him as Oliver reached out to take his hand, brushing his thumb reassuringly over the back as his fingers curled around the palm.

"Come on, love. If we leave Sean much longer who knows what we will return to. He could burn the place down or something.

Hermione chuckled. "Is he really that bad?"

Oliver waved his hands theatrically. "You have no idea. He leaves stuff everywhere. Honestly, he must have been raised on a farm for all the mess he makes and he has no concept of 'clean as you go'. And do _not_ get me started on how long it takes him to do anything. Betsy from the florists came in yesterday to get a sandwich and a coffee. It took him half an hour to make her sandwich and he got her coffee order wrong. Twice."

"I don't understand; if he is so bad why don't you fire him?" Hermione laughed as Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Because Wood thinks the man is a tragic mess who needs a firm hand."

"I bet he does" Hermione smirked.

Draco's eyes snapped open and for a moment his brain failed to register his surroundings. Sitting up, he fumbled around in the dark for his wand. Wordlessly casting _lumos_ , he blinked rapidly before placing his feet on the worn out carpet. Glancing round, he tried to work out what had caused him to wake. The scream permeated the wall causing him to grip his wand tightly as he rushed out into the living room.

"It's okay, I've got it," Hermione whispered, her face illuminated in the darkened room by the near dawn light streaming through the window as she wrapped her robe tight around herself. Draco averted his gaze, as she padded barefoot towards Pansy's room, a little perturbed to realise the sight of her bare calves under the short cotton robe had caused a long dormant coil of want to tighten in his abdomen.

Raking his hand through his bed hair, his heart clenched in his chest as he heard the muffled sounds of Pansy's sobs and Hermione's soothing tones as she comforted her distressed friend. He made his way down to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove, before quietly opening and closing cupboards as he prepared the tea.

Half an hour later, sure he had returned to bed, Hermione was shocked to find him sat at the table in the kitchen, a pot of tea in front of him as he quietly sipped from his cup.

"She okay?" he asked, concern resonating in his voice as he glanced up at her.

Hermione nodded, her shoulders dropping as she sighed heavily.

"The nightmares still plague her. Therapy helps, but high levels of anxiety trigger them."

Draco placed his cup on the table. "I should probably go."

Hermione's hand curled around his wrist. "No. You should stay. She is getting better, I promise. It's just seeing you after so long."

"That's exactly why I should go," he insisted, his tone almost pleading as their eyes locked.

"Stay," Hermione whispered. Draco turned his wrist over, catching her hand as she made to pull away. He grasped her fingers gently, looking down at her small hand in his much larger one.

"I can never escape who or what I was, can I?" His words so soft they were almost inaudible. "Even now, people look at me and see nothing more than a Death Eater. Flint could barely stand to look at me and yet there was a time when we were close." He looked up at Hermione, his eyes shining with emotion. "He was my Captain, Hermione. Someone I looked up to. And now he looks at me with disgust."

Hermione placed her other hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "There is so much you don't understand, though, Draco. Pansy was broken after the war, but because she realised what she had done, not anyone else. You thought she was dead but she didn't know that. All she knew is no one looked for her after the war. Then, suddenly, you're here but you can both move forward from here."

Draco dropped his head against their entwined hands, relishing in the coolness of her skin against his forehead. He felt her move the hand from his arm, and was about to lift his head, thinking she was pulling away, when her fingers found their way into his hair, giving him a comfort he hadn't realised he needed. Relaxing at her touch, as she massaged his taut scalp, his lips grazed the hand he still held. Distantly, he heard her breath catch in her throat but she didn't recoil or pull away, her fingers still enmeshed in his locks. Neither moved, their long forgotten tea going cold.

Pain in his neck woke him, causing his features to contort as he glanced around the kitchen. Massaging his neck, he realised he must have fallen asleep with Hermione massaging his scalp and he momentarily wondered where she was. Glancing about, he noticed a piece of parchment stuck to the fridge, a note scrawled by Hermione to himself and Pansy:

_You know where I am, Pansy._

_See you both a bit later._

_Love_

_Hermione x_


	4. Chapter 4

Draco's hands curled around the tea cup as he turned the pages of the morning edition of _The Prophet_ that Jude had brought him along with a fresh suit, some casual clothing, sleepwear and his cologne. Unreading eyes scanning the articles, he sighed heavily shutting the paper.

"You never did look at the book, did you?" Pansy's voice behind him startling him causing him to spill his tea down the crisp white t-shirt he wore over tracksuit bottoms; a loan from Oliver, dropped off the previous evening for him to sleep in that he had yet to change out of. Draco the adult was kinder to his house elf than Draco the child, not wanting to disturb him until the morning.

"No. But I can take a look at it today, once Hermione get's back," he replied, wordlessly casting a _scourgify_ , sighing that even magic could do nothing about tea stains on white t-shirts.

He watched as Pansy popped two slices of bread in the toaster then, smiling, removed the note from the fridge as she retrieved the orange juice from the fridge.

"Will she be long, do you think?" he asked, carefully.

Pansy shook her head as she smeared jam over her toast. "She is never more than an hour most days. Sometimes a bit longer." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "She might be a bit longer today."

"Where is it she goes?"

Pansy gripped her toast, pausing halfway between the counter and her mouth. "Beachy Head." She turned, leaning against the counter as Draco watched her, patiently waiting for her to elaborate. "It's up along the coast." Her words measured in a way that told him he wouldn't get any more information from her. Nodding, he turned back in his seat, finishing the dregs in his teacup.

"I have to pop out shortly, but I will be back before she opens the shop," she told him, dropping into the seat next to him, one slice between her teeth, the other in her right hand. He marvelled at the woman she had turned into.

"You've changed."

Pansy grinned broadly. "So have you."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes, but you're practically Mugglefied." He paused before they both chuckled, a brief feeling of relief washing over the pair as the tension dissipated.

Finishing her toast, she grabbed a tissue and wiped her mouth before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He was surprised by the intimate gesture, grabbing her hand as she made to leave. "When you get back, can we talk?"

Pansy nodded, a small smile ghosting her lips, a slight blush creeping on her cheeks.

"I've missed you," he told her.

She nodded again, "I've missed you too," she whispered. "I won't be long."

Having changed into a casual dark polo shirt and jeans, he wandered into the main room of the shop, perusing the books that were stacked on the shelves. He noted that the books towards the back of the shop were mostly magical, arranged by subject and then divided sub topically and finally by author. Running his fingers over the titles of the alchemy books, he selected a thick one before settling into one of the worn armchairs next to the fire. He was so immersed in the book that he didn't hear the bell go, starting when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

"My god woman, you're freezing!" he remarked, watching as she unwrapped her scarf and took off her hat, her hands going to her curls in a vein effort to curb the frizz as the static crackled almost violently. Almost as a reflex, he pointed his wand at the fireplace, wordlessly casting _incendio._ Hermione jumped slightly as the fire roared to life unexpectedly. Settling into the other chair, she frowned.

"Sorry, I know you and Pansy seem to have a love for doing things the Muggle way," he apologised.

"It's cathartic," she replied, watching the flames as they danced in the grate. "What are you reading?" she asked, turning towards him.

" _Alchemia,_ Andreae Libavii"

"You're fluent in French?" she marveled.

Draco hummed. "Mother insisted, despite the fact that our family has not resided in France for at least four generations," he replied, turning over the page. "Pansy popped out."

"Yes, she had therapy Tuesdays and Thursdays. That's why Marcus and Oliver insist on bringing lunch on Wednesdays," she told him, rubbing her hands in an attempt to get warm.

Draco smiled, his gaze remaining on the book.

Catching his look, she turned towards him. "What?"

"You were once labeled the 'Brightest Witch of Our Age' and yet you insist on sitting here shivering."

Hermione scowled as she rose from her chair, smacking him upside the back of his head as she walked out to the kitchen.

"OW!" he called after her, smirking.

"I know you, Draco, you love the abuse," Hermione called, taking tea cups down from the cupboard.

"Oh yes!" he chuckled, "And I have the scars to prove it."

Hermione paused, stilling her hand that still clutched the teabag in her delicate fingers as she sensed him behind her. "We all have scars. Some more visible than others." Her voice was somber. She shivered slightly as she felt his fingertips caress the small scar on the top of her collarbone, the gentle ridge of the apex exposed as her loose top fell down. Conscious of her own vulnerability, she went to adjust her neckline.

"Don't," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't hide who you are; not from me at least."

Hermione leaned back slightly at his words, feeling his well-toned torso so close to hers she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

His fingers caressed up the smooth of her neck, feeling the nick in her jawline from his Aunt's blade. Hermione's eyelids fluttered closed as his warm breath on her neck made her skin tingle and the hairs on her nape stand on end. She was sure she felt his lips graze against her skin for the briefest of seconds before the bell above the front door complained rudely about the violence with which the door was suddenly thrust open. Her eyes snapping open, she broke away, just before the yelling started.

"Where is he?" Marcus yelled, face crimson and contorted with rage.

"Draco?" Hermione furrowed her brow confused. "He's in the kitchen. Marcus, what's the matter?"

Raking his calloused hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, he rounded on Hermione.

"Pansy!" his voice cracking with emotion as Hermione stopped him from storming into the kitchen.

"What's happened?" she quietly coaxed, her small hands coming up to his broad shoulders.

Dropping into one of the armchairs, he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "She's at ours. She's a mess Hermione; her therapy session did not go well."

Hermione settled into the other armchair, taking his hands in hers. "The nightmares are back too," she quietly confessed.

"Well, what do you expect? He shows up after all this time, after everything, like a ghost from her past; a past she has tried to bury," Marcus spat, anger resonating in his voice.

"I told you I should go," Draco told Hermione, stepping out from the kitchen.

Hermione reached for Marcus as he stood up quickly, tugging at his sleeves.

"Too right you should go!" Marcus yelled, trying to get past Hermione who stood in between the pair of wizards.

"Sit down would you!" she cried, forcing Marcus to look at her. His green eyes bore into hers with an almost frightening intensity until he silently conceded defeat, dropping back into the chair.

"No one is leaving and you," she pointed at Draco and then the chair she had previously been occupying. "Sit."

"Look, as much as I enjoy you ordering me about, do you honestly think this is a good idea?" Draco asked, his tone measured.

"Yes," she insisted without hesitation, her intense gaze fixed on Draco until he complied with much the same aura of defeat as Marcus had.

"I feel like a marriage counselor," she chided, hands on her hips as she glared at them both.

"Hey, that's not fair," Marcus complained, sulkily.

"No? Well I would know wouldn't I?" she looked pointedly at Marcus who flushed slightly.

"It's not my fault you Gryffindors understand each other better," he muttered under his breath, averting his eyes.

Softening her features, she knelt down in front of Marcus, taking her hands in his once more. "Yes, we do. But I also understand Pansy. You can't blame Draco for this. She has good days and bad days; we all do."

Marcus' eyes flickered to hers as she reached up stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "I know you worry about her. We all do. But you have to ride out the storm as much as she does. She needs to fall before she can stand on her own feet. You can pick her up, and as her friend, you should, but you have to let her fall first. And when she does, you can't blame the first person available."

At her words, he glanced over at Draco then back at Hermione.

"But…"

"No buts," she cut him off with a practiced skill that reminded Draco of all the times she had skillfully handled Harry and Ron over the years.

Turning her head, she fixed her eyes on Draco. "And as for you, no more talk of leaving."

Draco stared at her for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Hermione stood up, enveloping Marcus in a hug which he returned with ease. Draco looked away, the slight stab of envy pricking his heart.

"Go to her, give her what she needs. I'll come by later and see if she wants to come home."

Marcus shook his head. "She's asleep in our bed. Wood is sitting with her but I am sure she's out for the count. The therapist gave her a prescription for something called Diazepam."

Hermione nodded, familiar with the Muggle medication. "Probably for the best. I will come by mid-morning."

Hermione sat in the armchair watching the flames in the fire Draco had insisted on lighting after Marcus left.

"You don't seem to get many customers," he observed, his voice pulling her from her reverie.

"No," Hermione agreed. "Most of the business we do is online but we do get the occasional passerby. Although that's mostly during the summer months. Brighton during the close season is pretty dead," she explained, her eyes still on the fire.

Draco hummed. "How bad is Pansy?" he asked her quietly.

Hermione stood up without answering, grabbing her coat and scarf from where she had left them behind the counter. Confused, Draco tracked her movements with his eyes, raising one eyebrow when she held out her hand to him.

"For you to properly understand, I need to take you somewhere," she explained, her voice so soft it was barely audible.

* * *

Draco stared out the window as Hermione drove silently, the sleepy town illuminated by the lights of the promenade as they made their way along the coast road. The road turned inland as they made their way through another town, then the landscape changed again as the town melted into the countryside, the little car steadily climbing the hills until finally, they pulled into a car park. Stepping out onto the uneven surface, Draco looked out over the cliffs at the uninterrupted view of the coastline.

"Over there is Eastbourne" Hermione pointed to their left before turning and pointing right. "Down there is Newhaven and that's Brighton. See? You can see the pier from here."

Quietly following Hermione along the footpath he nodded politely at the people they passed, glancing at the little signpost welcoming them to 'Beachy Head'.

"Hermione, what's this about?" He pointed to the green sign tacked to the post offering the services of trained counselors, confusion marring his brow.

Taking his hand in hers, she lead him over to the lone bench. Her hand in her pocket, clutching at her wand, she silently cast a muffliato and a Muggle repelling charm.

Sighing heavily, she turned to Draco. "Beachy Head is a notorious suicide spot. Two years ago when I first came to Brighton I would come up here to think. I don't know why but I've always felt drawn to here. One day I was sat right here when I saw a young girl standing near the edge over there. I knew what she was here for. I was the only person here that day. Had I not been there…." she shivered, the thought had haunted her every day since. "When I approached her something about her felt familiar, but I never expected it to be someone I knew. I certainly never expected it to be Pansy."

"Pansy tried to kill herself?" Draco's voice was hoarse as the emotion overwhelmed him.

Hermione nodded.

"But why?" He struggled to understand.

"The war affected us all, for Pansy it broke her. She had spent nineteen years alone, completely cut off from everyone. She was in an abyss with no one throwing her a lifeline," Hermione explained as they stared out at the view, watching the afternoon sun dip as it started to set.

"She isn't as bad now. She is getting better. But it's a long process from that edge to being completely healed."

"Is this where you were this morning?" Draco asked, suddenly remembering the note tacked to the fridge.

Hermione nodded. "I come here every day."

"Why?" he asked her quietly, realising for the first time that she had yet to let go of his hand, their fingers entwined.

"Mostly to think. Other than that, I don't know. I wake up feeling a need to come here."

Draco nodded. "I know how that feeling. I used to feel that way about the astronomy tower." He swallowed hard. "Before, I mean..."

Hermione squeezed his hand as his voice trailed off.

"Now I just feel pulled to you," he confessed.


	5. Chapter Four

Hermione filled the teapot, sprinkling the liquorice and fennel tea leaves into the pot before seasoning the clay.   She wasn’t exactly a fan of liquorice, screwing her nose slightly at the aniseed-like aroma which drifted up from the pot, but she knew that liquorice wands had always been a firm favourite of the young wizards on the Hogwarts Express.  Smiling at memories of the journeys she had shared, she picked up the tray and carried it into the main room of the shop.  

The bookshop had long since closed, the streets outside illuminated only by the dim lights from the main road.  With the only light inside coming from the fire that Draco had relit and the candles at which he had wordlessly waved his wand, the room was quite cosy, feeding her nostalgia.  

“What?” she asked, realising Draco was watching her.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he returned his attention to the book set out on the small desk she had transfigured from one of the bistro tables.  

“Just, you looked kind of wistful,” he remarked, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Hermione smiled as she placed the tray on the table, coming to sit in one of the high-backed chairs next to him.  “I was just thinking...with the room like this, it reminds me of the library.”

“Yes, but the difference is you and I would never have had a study date back then,” he chuckled, watching her flush slightly.

“Okay, so this is why I have been looking for this particular book,” he told her, turning the book towards her as she leaned in, brushing an errant curl back behind her ear.

“Annotations?” she furrowed her brow, her heart clenching as she remembered the way Harry’s Advanced Potions textbook had been annotated by Snape and the resulting fight that had almost cost Draco his life.

“Not just any annotations, Hermione.  These are the original notes of the author,” he told her, watching her sit back, her frown deepening.

“That doesn’t make any sense.  Why would the author annotate his own work?” 

“My guess is that he was looking to perfect the potions.  I mean look at this one, it is completely different to later recipes in later editions,” he stated, pointing to the scribbled notes.  

“After the War, I became responsible for the Manor.  One of the first things I did was go through the estate to remove anything dark.  It took me a long time to catalogue the library.  It was while I was doing this that I came across some interesting notes on potions that suggested that Phineas Bourne had kept a copy of the book once published, specifically so he could annotate it and perfect the solutions.”

Hermione sat enraptured as Draco explained why he had been looking for the book.  

“The reason the book is so controversial is because many of the potions are physically harmful.  So many people were left suffering after the War,” he paused, the emotion causing his voice to crack.  “Not many people know this but I have spent a lot of time with one of the senior Doctors at St Mungo’s.  I don’t just want to donate money, Hermione.  Any Pureblood wizard with a guilty conscience can do that.  I want to actually help.  I’ve been looking for this to add to my own research; I want to use the details here not to try and perfect these solutions, but to find counter solutions and hopefully cures.”

Hermione stared at Draco in wonder at the revelation.  The dealer who had contacted her to set up the appraisal had made no mention of why the book was sought.  Now she knew.

“My hope is to set up a research facility in partnership with St Mungo’s.  Obviously, I will provide the resources.  But I want to do more than that.  I want to lead the research team.  Merlin knows, it would be far more productive than sitting at the Manor doing nothing.”

Hermione squeezed his arm, speechless at his confession.

Draco reached out, turning the book to scrutinise it.  “There are other potions that are psychologically harmful,” he began, turning the pages, seemingly lost in thought.  “It never occurred to me until you told me about Pansy, but there must be many people who are suffering like she is.  It’s easy to see how the effect of prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse can leave long-term damage to nerves, but what about injuries to the mind?  Surely there has to be a better option than just locking them away like Lockhart?” he wondered as Hermione marvelled at the passion in his voice.

“I have plenty of books here at your disposal, including many on Psychology,” Hermione informed him as he narrowed his eyes in thought.  “I bet if you spent some time working through the texts you could enhance your research.”

Draco turned to Hermione.  “I could really use your insight and I am certain that your understanding of Muggle psychology far exceeds my own.  I don’t suppose you would be interested in helping me with my research would you?”

Hermione smiled.  “When have I ever turned down an opportunity to hit the books?”

 

Some time later they were sat surrounded by several books on potions and psychology, and the research Draco had already collated having summoned Jude and asked him to bring everything he had been working on from the Malfoy library.   Hermione chewed on a quill thoughtfully, immersed in a book on PTSD.  Draco found himself watching her, drawn to the cupid’s bow of her lips, watching the way it pouted as she chewed.  He wondered how he had never noticed how beautiful she truly was until now.  Reaching for her cup, she heard him chuckle softly as she pressed it to her lips absently before frowning at the empty cup.

Sticking her tongue out at him she stood up collecting the tea cups and pot.  “I’ll make us some more.”

“Let me,” Draco insisted, his fingers brushing hers as he took the items from her.  

Hermione smiled in gratitude, her cheeks flushing a little as she tried to suppress the tingling that worked its way up her spine.

In the kitchen, Draco busied himself with the kettle taking out the wooden box he knew she kept her tea leaves in.  He smiled to himself, noticing the similarities between her tea box and a potions caddy, reading the little labels that indicated the names of the teas, murmuring the names to himself as he tried to decide which tea would be best.  

* * *

Glancing about, a frown forming on her face, Hermione wondered where Draco had got to.  Marking the place in her book, she put her quill down and padded softly out to the kitchen.  Catching sight of him, his intense focus fixed on her tea box, she leant against the doorframe, smiling as she watched him.  

“You look like a child in a sweet shop,” she mused, causing him to jump slightly.

“You have too many teas,” he complained, “how am I supposed to choose?”

Chuckling she pushed herself from the door frame coming to stand alongside him.  

Draco shuddered slightly at the close proximity, but if she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Okay, this row is the black teas.  This one is Assam Tippy.  It has a tart, malty flavour and a honey aftertaste.  This one is Ceylon.  It is a crisp, aromatic tea with an almost citrus flavour.  This one is Earl Grey Darjeeling.  It has a floral taste, with citrus undertones of bergamot.  This last one is Russian Caravan.  It’s a blend of Oolong, Keemun and Lapsang Souchong teas.  Although it is a blend of China teas, the name Russian Caravan comes from the 18th-century camel caravans that brought tea from China to Europe.  It has a smoky taste.” 

Draco studied her, enraptured, as she explained the different teas.

“Okay, this row is my herbal teas.” She pointed to a brightly coloured mix of flowers and leaves.  “This one is Pansy’s favourite.  It’s Chamomile, with Fennel and Rose Petals.  It’s very calming, soothing and restorative.  She likes to drink it when she comes home from her therapy appointment.”  Pointing to the blend next to it with its bright strips of umber and yellow, she continued. “This is what I like to drink when I come back from Beachy Head.  It’s called the Harmony Blend; an ensemble of herbs including Rosehip, Anise, Raspberry, Nettle and Liquorice, with the warmth provided by the spices clove and cardamom, to produce a balancing drink.” She pointed to the next tea with dark green strips that reminded Draco of blades of grass.  “This is lemongrass and ginger tea.  It’s great for when you have a horrible cold.  This last one is the Liquorice and Fennel tea that I made earlier.  Not my favourite but I thought you might like it,” she smiled up at him.

“You have too many teas,” Draco informed her, watching amusedly as she pouted, a retort forming on her lips.

“Interrupting something am I?” Oliver smirked, stepping into the kitchen and pulling out a chair.  He grinned at Hermione as she jumped away from Draco.  

“Not at all, Draco is making tea.”

Oliver grinned at Draco.  “Did she give you a crash course in tea brewing?”

“Yes.  She has far too many teas,” Draco laughed as Hermione smacked his arm. 

“That’s just the loose tea.  Open that cupboard,” he pointed out, ducking as Hermione reached out to smack him upside the head.  

“Sweet Salazaar! it’s like opening Snape’s potions supply room!” Draco laughed.

“You two are ridiculous!” Hermione huffed before storming out of the room as the two men’s laughter filled the kitchen.

Settling for brewing some normal looking English Breakfast tea using the PG Tips that Oliver located for him at the back of the cupboard, he placed a cup in front of Oliver before dropping into the chair at the end of the table.  

Oliver called over his shoulder, “Quit sulking wench, your tea will go cold.”  Grinning he turned to Draco, who sat watching him over the edge of his teacup.  

“Marcus will come around eventually.  It’s just hard for him to see Pansy like this.  Part of it is guilt.”

Draco’s eyes widened at Oliver’s words.  “Why does Marcus feel guilty?”

Oliver sipped his tea thoughtfully before answering.  “For choosing the easy way out.  For not having anything to do with any of it. For failing to actually pick a side.”

“I think I’d have preferred it if I had been afforded that luxury,”  Draco muttered, lowering his cup.

“Well for Marcus, that makes him a coward.  And he’s struggled with that notion ever since.”

* * *

Turning the key in the lock, Oliver shoved the door to the flat open.

“Marcus, how many times do I have to ask you to sort this door out?” he huffed as he regained his balance.

Marcus looked up from his newspaper, frowning at Oliver.  “I’ll get to it, quit nagging.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked past Oliver, catching Draco’s eye before glancing back at Oliver.  “Is this a good idea?” he asked, nodding towards Draco.

Oliver rolled his eyes.  “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course.  But…”

“No buts.” Oliver cut him off, ushering Draco to the bedroom.  “I’ve already had to convince Draco; I don’t have the energy to convince you,” Oliver complained dramatically.

Stepping into the room, Draco glanced around, vaguely aware of the soft click as Oliver shut the door.  Soft light streamed in from the street below, illuminating the masculine features of the room.  Quidditch gear was dumped across a tub chair in one corner of the room.  Opposite sat a dresser with a large mirror that had photographs tacked around the edges until only a small patch of glass was left exposed.  The pictures were similar to the ones he had seen in Hermione’s room: snapshots of the couple with Hermione and Pansy, individual shots and several duos.  An empty chair sat next to the bed, that Draco judged from the indentations on the carpet had been dragged away from the French window to the side of the bed.

Settling into the chair, Draco realised Pansy was awake.  He took her hand, stroking her fringe away from her unseeing shimmering eyes as she stared at nothing.  

“Hey,” he whispered, a soft smile ghosting his lips.

“Hey,” she tonelessly replied, trying and failing to return the smile.

“Marcus told me you were having a bad day,” Draco informed her.

“Yea,” Pansy half chuckled and Draco heard the sarcastic lilt.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Pansy shifted her position, finally making eye contact.

“Yes and no,” she sighed, “Yes I probably should, no I don’t really,” Pansy explained. 

Draco nodded, understanding.  He felt himself pulled back into memories of sixth year.  Had anyone asked him if he wanted to talk, he probably would have responded the same way.  He had desperately wanted someone to share the burden but couldn’t bring himself to talk about it.  About any of it.

“I know that if I don’t address how I am feeling it will only eat at me, but it’s hard.” Pansy swallowed.  “Knowing where to start, I mean.”

Draco squeezed her hand in sympathy.

“I just don’t seem to be able to shake the feeling of loneliness,” she whispered as Draco rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“That feeling of being in a crowd, but being so alone.  Rationally, I know that I am not; not anymore anyway.  I have Hermione, Marcus, and Oliver.  But…” she sighed heavily, shutting her eyes.

“I can relate to that,” Draco replied, his voice barely audible.  “Sixth year...I never felt so alone.”

Pansy opened her eyes once more.  “Hermione says we were kids back then, forced to grow up too fast too soon; to make choices that would impact the rest of our lives.  Choices that we cannot always be held to account for.” 

Draco smiled.   Yes.  That sounded exactly like one of Hermione’s lectures.

Pansy rolled onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling.  “I understand what she says.  But I can’t get past the part I played.”

Draco coaxed Pansy back onto her side.

“Look at me Pansy,” he gently instructed.  “If anyone can understand how that feels, it’s me.  And I am telling you, you need to listen to Hermione.  We were children and none of us had any choice.  You have to learn to forgive yourself or you will never find peace.”

A small tear edged it’s way down her cheek.

“It’s not just that.  I have been alone for so long that I don’t know how to not feel alone.  Everyone I cared about, everyone I loved, I thought they were all dead.  For nearly twenty years I had no one else in this world to turn to.  It takes a long time to undo two decades of the same thinking.”

Draco pulled her into his arms.  “You are not alone Pansy, not anymore.  You have Hermione, Marcus, and Oliver, like you said,” Draco cleared his throat before continuing.  “And you have me if you will let me continue to be a part of your life.  But not if it will cause you further pain,” he told her sincerely.

Pansy pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.  “Of course I want you to be part of my life,” she told him, dark eyes fixing on his steely grey orbs.  For a moment, neither of them said a word and then, like sunshine cracking through a darkened sky after a storm, Pansy smiled, a soft chuckle escaping her throat.  It was enough to break the tension, and soon Draco found himself laughing along with her.

Hearing the door crack open, Draco looked up, his eyes meeting Marcus’ as he stepped into the room.  

“You okay now, girl?” he asked Pansy, his eyes never leaving Draco’s.

A well-aimed pillow caught the side of his head, breaking his death stare, causing him to turn and glare at Pansy.  “What the…?”

“Cut it out,” Pansy smirked before clambering off the bed.   “You’re like my big brother, and I love you, but stop being a dick to my oldest friend,” she stated matter of factly, before standing up on tiptoes to press a firm kiss to his cheek.  Slipping into the living room she called out to Oliver who was ladling soup from the slow cooker into a takeaway container.

“Ollie, I’m feeling much better now, thank you for looking after me, but you do realise Mia is down the street starving herself as we speak?”

Oliver chuckled as he pressed the lid down on the container before removing a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

“One step ahead of you, little one,” he smiled, as she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he turned to kiss her cheek. 

“Anytime.  You know we are here for you, both of you.  Always.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All notes on teas are taken from the Edgecumbes website. Edgecumbes is a family run coffee roaster and tea importers from Ford, Sussex, UK.


	6. Chapter Five

Stepping into the shop, Draco found himself transported back in time as his eyes fell on Hermione, sat hunched over books, her hair tied up into a messy bun that was held in place by a spare quill, chewing thoughtfully on the quill in her mouth. Ink stained her fingers that rested on the page as she read on, absorbed by the text in front of her. It was like stumbling upon the girl in the Hogwart's library, only this time instead of jeering at her for trying to stay one step ahead of the class and ensuring he would have to explain himself to his father for falling behind her in marks, he found himself beguiled by the image. Feeling liquid heat pool in his lower abdomen, he wondered how it had taken him so long to realise her beauty. Gone was the young girl with the bushy hair and buck teeth who he had teased mercilessly, and in her wake was left a woman whose natural beauty left him speechless and unsure of himself.

Pausing to brush a stray curl behind her ear, she caught sight of him in the corner of her eye.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in. How is Pansy?" she asked, concern heavy in her voice.

"I'm feeling much better now, love. Here. Ollie sends this with his love," Pansy replied, setting down a two bowls of soup and two glasses of wine next to her. The pair shared a look before Pansy pressed a grateful kiss to Hermione's forehead.

"I'm gonna head upstairs," Pansy winked before heading for the back stairs.

Draco frowned as his eyes followed her out the room. "Is she always like that? After, I mean."

Hermione nodded, picking up her spoon. "Yes. When she crashes, the therapist prescribes her a dose of diazepam so she sleeps. It's like hitting a reset button. Depending on how hard she crashed, that determines the length of time she sleeps. I've known her sleep for three days straight in her darkest moments. When she wakes, she is bouncy until she has a second sleep," Hermione explained as Draco took a sip of his wine. "This level of energy is temporary. She will be more settled tomorrow."

"That can't be good for her," Draco reflected, his eyes drifting to the doorway leading through to the kitchen, before glancing back at Hermione who had finished her soup and was back to reading through her notes.

"And working this hard cannot be good for you either," he softly chided, his hand reaching out to still hers.

"It is what it is," Hermione shrugged, looking down at Draco's hand atop hers. It was soft and warm; not calloused and cold like she had always assumed. His touch was oddly soothing and she found the incongruity of her emotions vaguely tangible and a little unsettling.

Draco cleared his throat, pulling his hand away, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the gesture. Beside him, Hermione nervously blinked, averting her eyes and pulling herself up a little straighter, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "I...um..." she stammered, her fingers toying with her quill as her cheeks flushed.

"I think I will head up to bed," Draco told her, standing to leave. Hermione looked up sharply, her hazel coloured orbs swimming with unspoken emotion as they met his. She had often thought his eyes were icy and cold, but now they appeared a soft grey. For a moment neither of them spoke. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, they were interrupted by a soft tapping at the door. Frowning, she stood and made her way over to the door. The owl come in, landing on the counter at the back of the room, waiting patiently while she fetched a treat for him.

"That's a Hogwarts owl isn't it?" Draco asked, his voice full of trepidation.

Hermione nodded, unscrolling the parchment carefully, her fingers trembling slightly. Owls from the children were usually sent on Sunday, so to get one midweek made her nervous.

"It's from Rose," she told him, relief flooding her momentarily as she recognised the handwriting.

_Mum_

_I've decided not to come visit at Christmas. Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill have invited Hugo and me to France for the holidays with Dad and we have decided to go with him. I will try to visit you at Easter instead._

_Love, Rose._

Hermione handed the short missive to Draco, unable to stop the tears that streaked down her cheeks, despite her best efforts as she tried to rub them away with her hands. Placing the note on the counter, Draco felt himself move towards her, gently tugging her into his arms. Instinctively burying her head into his shoulder, she allowed him to wrap his arms around her as she cried, his chin coming down to rest on her head as he stroked her curls soothingly.

Eventually, Hermione pulled away slightly, looking up at Draco. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile that Hermione thought was almost shy, as he reached into his pocket retrieving a handkerchief. Lifting it to her face, she allowed him to dab it gently against her eyes, brushing away her tears. He pocketed the handkerchief, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek gently. Instinctively, Hermione shut her eyes, leaning into his touch. She couldn't remember the last time a man had offered her comfort and what, she supposed, was a touch of affection.

Draco found himself leaning in, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, before he hesitated, pulling slightly to the side, ghosting a chaste kiss to her warm cheek. Stepping back, he nodded politely.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Hermione frowned slightly, her forehead creasing almost minutely, as he stepped past her heading for the back stairs. Touching her fingers to where his lips had touched her skin, she belatedly realised she was smiling, a little flutter in her heart.

"Goodnight, Draco," she murmured, her soft voice drifting out to Draco as he reached the stairs, causing him to smile to himself, a flutter of something awakening in him for the first time since Astoria had passed.

Eyes blinking open, Draco frowned as he took in his surroundings. He was still ajusting to waking up somewhere other than his suite at Malfoy Manor. Sitting up, he dropped his legs over the side of the bed, his toes spreading a little into the soft carpet as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. Vaguely, he was aware of the vibration of the sounds coming through the floorboards. At least one of the girls was up and awake, and by the sound of it singing along to the radio. Smiling to himself, he decided to go down and investigate. He could grab a shower later.

Padding softly down the back stairs, careful to avoid the piles of books that seemed to have grown since the night before, he leant against the wall at the bottom, silently watching Pansy and Hermione move about the kitchen in a perfectly synchronized mimicry of the song on the muggle radio. Pansy was holding a spatula to her lips, her hips swaying as she sang while watching the pancake in the frying pan. Hermione was rooting around the fridge, her singing muffled, and her pert bottom wriggling with the rhythm as Draco watched, mesmerized. He felt himself harden slightly at the image, turning away a little embarrassed to be ogling her so openly. Pansy flipped the pancake onto the waiting plate, as Hermione righted herself, shutting the fridge with a jerk of her hips, turning to Pansy who held the spatula between their faces as the song reached it's crescendo.

Draco smiled broadly, his hand clapping loudly together in thunderous applause as the song ended, causing both girls to jump, flushing embarrassed at being caught in their impromptu karaoke.

"Bravo girls," he chuckled amusedly, delighting in their discomfort. "Bit early though, don't you think? It's six thirty."

"Oh, sorry, did we wake you?" Pansy blurted, her eyes widening.

"Yes, but that little display was totally worth it," he remarked, as he pushed himself away from the wall, coming to kiss them both good morning.

Glancing at Hermione as he pulled away from her cheek, he was sure he saw her blush deepen, her teeth pulling her bottom lip in slightly as he pulled a chair out from the table. Pansy dropped a plate of pancakes in front of him with a smile. "Coffee or juice?" she asked, going to the pot that was gurgling away on the counter.

"Coffee please," he replied, watching Hermione as she took her place, careful to avoid looking at him.

Reaching forward, he placed his hand on top of hers. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low as Pansy hummed while pouring coffee.

Hermione's eyes drifted to where his hand was on hers. Something was happening, she was sure of it, every time he touched her. It had started the other day when they had stood in this very kitchen, when she was sure he had brushed his lips over her scar. Since then, every look and every touch had been loaded with something more, and she had only realised it yesterday evening when he placed his hand on hers and if felt different: natural; comfortable; real. It had been so long since she had been touched in a way that had made her feel alive and the last person she expected to make her feel that way was Draco Malfoy. The realisation was unnerving, least of all because it felt right. Like locating the missing piece of her soul; the piece she had not realised she was missing.

Draco carefully scrutinised her as she stared at his hand atop hers, confusion marring her brow, and yet she didn't pull away so neither did he.

"I'm okay," she faltered, her eyes not leaving his hand as she spoke. She felt his fingers tighten as he gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

"The children are grown up enough to decide for themselves and they are close to their aunt and uncle and their cousins, so I am not going to create a fuss."

"I still think it's selfish," Pansy commented as she came to sit beside Hermione, her eyes catching the way Draco was holding her hand. Lifting one eyebrow, her gaze met his, her lips curled up into a knowing smile as he reluctantly pulled away, taking up his cutlery.

"We've been over this, Pans," Hermione sighed as she pushed her fork around her plate, skewering a strawberry.

"I don't understand it. Scorpius told me that she was hiding in the library…" Draco began, frowning.

"Now who does _that_ remind us of?" Pansy asked, tapping a finger to her pouting lips mockingly as Hermione elbowed her playfully.

"By his account she misses you deeply," Draco told her, his voice soft.

Hermione sighed, "Yes, well, clearly Scorpius is mistaken…"

"I don't think so," Draco responded, shaking his head.

"Can we just stop discussing it, please," Hermione cried, her voice insistent and almost shrill as her hand gripped her fork tight.

"Hey, shush, sorry," Draco coaxed, stroking her arm. Pansy watched as Hermione relaxed, her eyes briefly shutting as Draco soothed her.

Hermione took in a deep breath as Draco brushed his thumb across her wrist.

"Better?" he asked, concern deep in his voice.

Hermione nodded. "Better."

Pansy put her cup down, taking up her fork. "So, are you two going to tell me what you are up to then?"

Draco stilled his hand as he and Hermione fixed their eyes on Pansy, who smiled as she placed a forkful of pancake in her mouth, glancing sidelong at their expressions. _Guilty_ , she mused. _Interesting_. Choosing to file the information away for later, she smiled innocently.

"The books spread out on the desk in the other room," she explained with a nod of her head. "Looks like you two are working on something."

"Oh, that," Hermione breathed. "It's Draco's research," she answered absently with a shrug of her shoulders.

Pansy slid her legs out from under the table, standing to refill her coffee.

"Research?" she echoed as her fingers curled around the handle of the coffee pot.

Draco nodded. "It's why I was searching for the book Hermione had," he explained, placing his fork on the plate.

Pansy poured her coffee, depositing the pot back on the hotplate before leaning against the counter. "Why are you researching potions?" she asked, a sense of foreboding washing over her as she watched Draco and Hermione share a look, the atmosphere in the kitchen thickening with tension.

"Scratch that, what are you two not telling me?" she asked nervously as her grip tightened on her mug.

Draco turned in his seat, his gaze holding Pansy's as her complexion palored. "I started my research when my wife was dying," he confessed, his heart clenching as he watched a myriad of emotions flash across Pansy's face.

"You know, it should have occurred to me sooner with you mentioning your son, but it's silly really, how I didn't realise you had been married. I guess the lack of a wedding ring is why it never occurred to me, but I am so sorry, Draco," Pansy rushed, her voice trailing off when she saw the pained expression on his face as he closed his eyes. Two decades apart didn't change the fact that she could read her oldest friend like a book. "There's more to it, isn't there?" she asked quietly.

Draco nodded.

"Who was your wife, Draco?" she pressed nervously.

"Astoria Greengrass," Draco rasped, grief constricting his chest making it hard for him to breathe.

Pansy's grip relaxed, her mug smashing as it hit the flagstone floor, the liquid splashing up her leg unnoticed. Hermione scrambled from her chair, picking up the pieces as Pansy trembled.

"Astoria's dead?" she lamented, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

Draco nodded.

Hermione deposited the broken shards in the bin, taking Pansy's hand as Pansy's mind replayed images of the young girl she had taken under her wing when they were at Hogwarts. Timid and shy, in the shadow of her popular sister Daphne, she had grown close to the older witch who had looked out for her as she navigated her way through the convoluted social hierarchy that came with being sorted into Slytherin.

"How? When?" Pansy stammered, as she came to sit at the table, grasping Draco's hand with her free hand, Hermione's hand still clasped in hers.

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. "A family curse; the summer before Scorpius started his third year," his replied, his voice cracking with emotion. He closed his eyes as Pansy lifted a hand to cup his cheek, silent tears tracking down her own. He leaned into her touch as she brought her forehead to touch his. Pansy gripped Hermione's hand harder, pulling her in. For a moment Hermione faltered, before wrapping one arm around Pansy's shoulders, the other coming to rest on Draco's shoulder, rubbing circles. His left hand wound its way around her waist, seeking further comfort and Hermione responded, dropping her cheek to his shoulder.


	7. Six

Autumn turned to winter, bringing with it bitter winds, and tides that smashed relentlessly along the coast, drowning the promenade and flooding the coastal road. Hermione, Draco and Pansy fell into a comfortable routine with Pansy taking over the day to day running of the shop as Hermione buried herself in research alongside Draco.

Of the two, Oliver had made the most effort to include Draco in their ritual Wednesday lunches, Marcus opting to sit in brooding silence in the corner watching Draco like a hawk or stepping out to the small courtyard for drawn out smoking sessions.

For his part, Draco immersed himself in the books, strangely comforted by the nostalgic familiarity that settled in the air whenever Hermione settled down at the table surrounded by books and parchment, a quill idly shoved into her messy bun. Sometimes, his gaze would lift from the book he was reading and he would watch her, fascinated by the way her face would twitch into a variety of expressions as she read, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip as she thought about what she was reading, and the way her eyes would light up whenever she found something particularly noteworthy. More than once he wondered if, in another life, he might have noticed how beautiful she looked when surrounded by books and parchment, instead of teasing her for having her nose pressed into them constantly; if in that other life they might have been friends.

The doorbell above the shop door jiggled, breaking Draco's concentration, causing him to look up, before returning his attention to his book when he realised it was only Pansy returning from her counseling session.

"Hey," she smiled, taking off her jacket. "Where's Mia?" she asked as she hung it up on the coat rack.

Draco frowned as he considered her question. "I'm not actually sure," he replied slowly as Pansy rounded on him. "What do you mean you aren't sure?" she challenged.

Draco stuffed a quill in the book to mark his page. "She said she was popping out to pick up some tea, but that was a little while ago now," he replied, confused by the concerned look on Pansy's face.

"She said she was going out for some tea?" Pansy repeated, striding over to the counter and lifting the receiver of the telephone.

Draco twisted in his seat. "Yeah," he replied, watching her dial. "What's wrong?" he asked, his heart rate increasing with his concern.

"We get our tea delivered by a company in Arundel," Pansy told him as Marcus picked up on the other end of the line. "Yeah, it's me...no, my session went well…." Pansy began as Draco stood from the chair coming to her side. "Marcus, I love you but shut the hell up. It's not me, it's Mia. She wasn't here when I got back….no her car is outside…" Pansy rolled her eyes while shaking her head. "No, you don't understand. She told Draco she was going out for tea. Charlie delivered some yesterday!" Pansy nodded listening to Marcus. "Okay, yeah, see you in a few." Pansy replaced the receiver before striding past Draco as he watched her, stunned.

"So, this might seem like a silly question," Draco began as Pansy pulled her jacket down off the coat rack. "But what's going on?"

"Hermione suffers from depression. One of the ways she copes is with a strict routine," Pansy explained, buttoning her coat. "She buys her tea from the same place, every other week. There is absolutely no way she would just randomly go buy tea from the local supermarket. It's out of character for her. Add that to the fact that the only time she leaves this place is to go to Beachy Head or to visit Marcus and Oliver, which she only does on a Sunday, unless she has a specific reason to, and she is not at Beachy Head because her car is right outside and Marcus didn't tell me she was over there…" Pansy's words trailed off as she realised she was panicking and needed to take a breath. "It's just out of character. Hermione doesn't do random."

Draco felt his stomach twist in knots as he listened to Pansy's explanation. "Okay, so what do we need to do?" he asked, watching as Pansy rolled her eyes as though the answer was obvious.

"We need to go look for her," Pansy cried, exasperated.

Less than ten minutes later Draco, Pansy, Marcus and Oliver were heading down Prince's Street in the direction of the seafront. "Any idea where she might be?" Marcus asked Pansy as they reached the promenade. Pansy shook her head. "She is drawn to the sea, that's all I know," Pansy cried, grateful for the bitter wind that made it look like her eyes were watering rather than betraying the truth that she was crying.

"Okay, you stay around Kemptown, Draco can head down towards the town, Oliver and I will head up towards Peacehaven," Marcus instructed, his eyes fixed on Pansy, his peripheral vision tracking Draco's movement as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet but nodded all the same.

Pansy chewed her fingernails as she and Draco walked along the promenade in the direction of the town. "Shit," she hissed as she scrambled down from the smooth concrete onto the stones that covered the beach. "Well don't just stand there, give me a fucking hand," she screamed over the wind, her hands fighting with her hair that was losing it's battle with the relentless wind.

Draco gave her a look as he scrambled down to join her. "Sorry," she muttered as he took her hand, picking out a way to the grey sand. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, his eyes narrowing at the sea mist that was starting to roll rapidly in with the incoming tide.

"Shit," Pansy repeated, glancing up at the sky, the last light of evening dusk making the mist glow ethereally. "It won't be long before this mist covers the whole town," she told him, shivering as the freezing mist enveloped them.

"You should have stayed at the shop," Draco chastised, watching her out of the corner of his eye as the started along the beach.

Clambering over a breakwater, Draco's eyes narrowed as he bent down to inspect a garment that lay haphazardly on the stones. "Pansy," he started, reaching out to take her hand as she hauled stumbled over the breakwater. "This is her cardigan isn't it?" His eyes met hers, watching her fall apart. A quick glance confirmed no one was around so he took a chance and sent a couple of sparks up into the sky. Moments later Marcus and Oliver apparated to where Draco stood as he attempted to calm an almost hysterical Pansy.

Wordlessly, Marcus extricated Pansy from where she was clinging to Draco, apparated her back to the shop, Oliver following quick on his heels. Draco continued along the beach, his stomach knotting even tighter.

Panic rising, he carded his hand through his hair, damped by the mist. His eyes narrowed as he struggled to see with the ever thickening fog as he continued to pick his way along the unfamiliar coastline. As he reached the pier, he started to pick his way up the stones towards the promenade. Movement to his left caught his eye and he squinted, the lights from the wrought iron street lamps glowing in the mist and making it harder for him to see. Picking his way across the beach, he reached out, grabbing hold of the wrought iron of the pier to steady himself. "Granger?" he called, startled when a lone seagull flew out from under the pier. "Fuck," he hissed, turning to make his way back towards the promenade.

A soft whimper stopped him in his tracks, causing him to turn back, his eyes catching sight of her sat on the stones, under the pier, her back to the promenade, legs drawn up.

"Fucking hell, Granger, what the hell are you doing out here," he called, his voice echoing back at him. Unsteady feet took him up to where she was sat, eyes wide as she stared out to sea, shivering violently. Cursing inwardly, he brushed loose curls away from her face, his arm wrapping around her frigid bare shoulders. With a pitying look, he apparated them back to the shop.

Hearing the crack, Pansy came running in from the kitchen, her eyes growing wide as her face contorted in a mix of relief, shock, and confusion as she pulled Hermione into her arms. "Merlin, Mia!" Pansy cried, rubbing her hands vigorously over her back in an effort to warm her up. "You are frozen to the bone. Whatever possessed you to go out there in weather like this with nothing but this flimsy blouse and jeans on?" Pansy reprimanded her, pulling back to search her vacant staring eyes for some notion of what was running through her mind. "Mia?" Pansy asked, her voice growing quiet. "Mia," she called louder when Hermione failed to respond.

Pansy glanced up at Draco who still had Hermione's left hand clasped in his right. He shook his head, shrugging, perturbed by the way Hermione was behaving, his heart clenching for Pansy as she became frantic. Marcus pulled himself away from the hearth where he had been stoking the fire, his broad arms coming around Pansy's waist pulling her across the room as Draco gently coaxed Hermione into a chair to warm herself by the fire.

"I don't understand, what's wrong with her, this isn't like her?" Pansy sobbed as Marcus guided her into the kitchen where Oliver was making the tea.

"Hush, lovely. When our girl is ready to talk she will," Oliver murmured as he gently brushed Pansy's dark locks behind her ear, handing her a cup of tea. She took the cup in her trembling hands. "I can't stand this, Ollie. Hermione always looks after me when I'm having a rough time, but I don't know how to help her in return," Pansy sobbed as he and Marcus guided her into a chair at the kitchen table.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Marcus dropped a kiss to Pansy's hair sharing a look with Oliver who was crouching down beside her, before he slipped into the main room of the shop. Leaning against the bookcase, arms folded, he watched as Draco pulled a blanket that had been draped over the back of one of the armchairs, opening it out. Marcus knew that blanket well: Oliver's mother had knitted it in the dark forest green, navy and hunting pink plaid of the Clan Wood tartan, the wool coming from the family's farm in Fife. The couple had gifted it to Hermione after she had admired it so much, wrapping herself in it every time she had visited when she and Wood had first rekindled their friendship.

Marcus watched as Draco unfolded it, tugging it around Hermione's shoulders, not knowing the sentiment attached to it, but understanding that she would often sit curled up with a book, the blanket around her like a shawl, cup of tea in hand, the image making him think that all she needed was a pair of glasses and she would have morphed into McGonagall.

Glancing back into the kitchen, he caught sight of Oliver tugging Pansy into his shoulder, their eyes meeting over the top of her head. A soft smile graced his lips as his mind wandered, not for the first time, to the notion of children. Mentally shoving the topic to one side, with a note to talk to Oliver later, he turned back to the sight to Draco crouched down in front of Hermione, stroking her hair. He must have sensed Marcus standing there scrutinizing him as he stilled his hand, turning his head slightly, eyes locking with Marcus' across the room.

Neither man said a word, Marcus finally breaking the eye contact as he pushed himself away from the bookcase and strode across the room towards the coat rack. For his part, Draco did his best to suppress the wry smirk that twitched in the corners of his mouth for making his former quidditch captain back down.

Marcus grabbed Pansy's coat as he called through to the kitchen. "You're staying with us tonight, Pansy," he informed her, much to Draco's shock. The sound of chair legs scraping along the kitchen floor reverberated around the quiet shop just before Pansy came rushing in. "What? No. I should be here with Mia," Pansy insisted, as Marcus held her coat open for her. Marcus shook his head. "No, I think it's best if we leave her in peace until she feels ready."

Pansy started to protest as Oliver appeared from the kitchen, the two men sharing a look before Oliver glanced briefly at Draco before returning his eyes to Marcus. "It's for the best Pansy," Oliver coaxed as he pressed a hand to her back, Marcus holding the coat up as he gave her a pointed look.

Pansy spun around on her heel to look at Oliver. "I don't want Mia to be alone," she half cried, her face awash with her deep concern.

"She won't be, she has Draco," Marcus indicated with a nod of his head.

Hearing his words Draco stood from where he was crouched down, the shock apparent on his face as Pansy glanced over at him and then at Marcus.

"Let him look after her, and we will take care of you," Marcus told her, his quiet insistence resonating deeply with her. She chewed her lip, faltering slightly before nodding slowly in acceptance. Pansy allowed Marcus to help her into her jacket, pulling her hair from where it was tucked underneath. One arm around her, Oliver guided her out of the shop and onto the pavement outside. Wordlessly, Draco followed them to the door to lock up the shop.

As he reached the door, Marcus turned back to Draco.

"Look after her: treat her kindly and avoid using magic around her," he instructed, his eyes searching Draco's for his understanding.

Draco nodded slightly. "No magic?" he asked quietly, wondering the reason for this.

Marcus set his shoulders before answering. When he spoke, his words were quiet and heartfelt. "That girl carries the weight of the world on her small shoulders. She soldiers on and on through wars and uprisings until she snaps. That vacant stare? She isn't looking at nothing, Malfoy, she is _remembering_. She doesn't see nothing, she sees _everything_. Pansy and me, and Ollie and you, and ghosts. It haunts her. The war: the things she did; the things she saw; the things _we_ did and the things _we_ allowed to happen. She married an idiot and buried it all down deep and then her child, Malfoy, _her child_ , your child and that bloody Potter's child tried to rewrite history and instead unraveled that poor woman. It overwhelms her. She loves her magic, but it overwhelms her sometimes. She feels everything."

Draco felt like a bludger had hit him at 100mph, the revelation unsettling him. As Marcus turned away, Draco reached out, his hand snapping around his wrist. Marcus looked down at the action then up at Draco.

"So surely I am the last person you want to take care of her!" Draco's words were more statement than question, his eyes betraying the guilt he still felt, even now as his mind transported him back to the day the snatchers arrived with the Golden Trio, the image of her writhing in agony at the hands of his aunt burning in his mind.

Marcus gave Draco a soft, lopsided smile. "Actually, something tells me you are the only person I want to look after her right now."

Ten long minutes later, Draco had managed to shut up the shop and gently encourage Hermione up to the flat above. With a soft click, he opened her bedroom door, guiding her inside, leaving the door open just wide enough to allow a small slither of light into the room. One hand pressed to her back, he guided her to the bed, helping her to settle down on the edge before going to her dresser and pulling out her cotton pyjamas. Eyebrows knitting together he frowned as he used his body to shut the drawer once more.

"I'm going to help you," he whispered, searching her eyes for her understanding. Hermione gave a slight nod of her head signaling her consent. Gently, Draco began unbuttoning her blouse, peeling the flimsy fabric away from where it was plastered to her damp skin. Using his hands to make the neck wide, he slowly pulled the t-shirt over her head, guiding her arms into the right places before pulling the fabric down, his knuckles grazing over her breast and her abdomen. Coaxing her onto her back, he undid her jeans, tugging them down off her frigid hips and over her legs. She whimpered slightly, causing Draco to stop, his eyes snapping up to hers, concerned.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, watching as Hermione gave a slight shake of her head. He felt her grab his hand. Thinking she wanted him to stop, he started to back away. Hermione pulled on his arm slightly, confusing him, then pressed his open palm to her frigid thigh. "Merlin, Hermione, you're frozen," he whispered, understanding that she was so cold her nerves were shot.

Slowly, he continued to pull the fabric down, releasing each ankle in turn. Pausing to toss the jeans and blouse into her bathroom, he then began pulling her pyjama bottoms up her legs, helping her to lift her hips as he pulled the fabric up before tucking her duvet around her.

Brushing her hair away, he dropped a chaste kiss full of concern on her forehead, pulling back slightly. "Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered, stepping away. He felt her small hand shoot out and clamp around his wrist as she whimpered once more.

For a moment, Draco faltered, unsure what to do as he searched her eyes for some indication as to what she needed.  
"You want me to stay with you?" he asked, uncertain. He watched as Hermione nodded slightly, before glancing across the room. "Let me just grab a chair," he told her, but she tightened her grip on his wrist, the look of pleading in her eyes hurting his heart.

Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he whispered, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Okay, it's okay," he murmured against her skin, unsure as to which one of them he was reassuring. Removing his shoes, he climbed onto the bed behind her, his arms wrapping around her. Feeling her move under him, twisting herself around under her duvet frantically, Draco pulled back slightly, concerned, then perplexed as she tugged at the top of the duvet. Her eyes locked with his, silently pleading as his hand came up over hers.

"Okay," he whispered, lifting off the duvet, watching as she tore it back, her hands reaching out and fisting his clothes as he settled back into the bed, tugging the duvet over them both. Wrapping his arms around her, he felt shocked by the sudden feeling of her cold hands on his warm chest as she pushed her hands under the fabric of his jumper.

His eyes found hers, shocked and confused by her action. Then he remembered Marcus' words: "she is _remembering_. You, and ghosts." Frozen, frantic hands reached up to his heart, pressing against his warm skin, feeling his heartbeat underneath.

"It's okay, Hermione. I'm here, I'm real," he whispered, turning in to face her, his hand pressing against her chest, feeling her heartbeat through her t-shirt, his eyes conveying silently that he understood. "I'm here, I'm real," he repeated, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her securely to him, trapping her hand against his chest, he murmured once more as they drifted off to sleep. "I'm here, I'm real."


	8. Seven

The heavy pitter patter of rain against the window pane woke Draco. Blinking, he felt vaguely disoriented as his eyes adjusted to the light streaming in through the balcony doors, his mind trying to work out where he was. As he shifted in the bed, he felt fingernails graze against his skin. He turned his head and for a moment was startled to see Hermione lying next to him, her hand underneath his shirt. Then, like a river breaking its dam, the events of the night before came flooding into his mind, causing him to reach out and stroke Hermione's right cheek as she lay sleeping next to him. She looked peaceful, her features not betraying the catatonic trauma that had etched her face the night before.

As he lay there, watching her sleep, he tried to recall the events that had led up to her disappearance. Had there been signs that he had missed? Draco furrowed his brow in thought. She had seemed quiet yesterday, but he had put that down to her studious attitude. What had provoked her melancholy?

Sighing, he pulled his hand away, slipping from the bed, the pressure in his bladder no longer something he could ignore. Washing his hands, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was grief something that was visible in the lines one developed on their face, he wondered, as his eyes drifted over his features. He still felt the pangs, even now, but it was dull and laced with a loneliness he hadn't felt since he was sixteen.

Padding out of the bathroom he paused, wondering whether he should make some tea or try to wake her. Remembering what Hermione had told him about the importance of sleep, he slipped quietly from the room, making his way down the back stairs, careful to avoid the nests of books that seemed to grow daily.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he opened the cupboard, pulling out Hermione's tea caddy. Frowning at the leaves, he tried to work out which tea to brew for the sleeping witch. He considered the Harmony blend, knowing that it was Pansy's favourite, a blend of rosehip, anise, raspberry, nettle, liquorice, cardamom, rooibos, clove, calendula and sunset yellow safflower petals. Somehow it didn't feel right. His eyes were caught by a mix of dusty red rose petals and camomile flowers, and he screwed his nose up as the scent of fennel assaulted him. He knew from Hermione's tea-lecture that this was a restorative drink but, again, it did not feel right. Housed in the adjacent compartment was a new tea. Draco recalled the look of sheer delight that had lit up Hermione's face when she opened the packet, breathing in the scent, when the tea had been delivered. "Time Out Blend," she had informed him with a knowing look before pouring it into the box with a sigh, "a blend of luxury camomile, rooibos, lemon balm, lemon verbena, linden flowers, anise, cinnamon, oat straw, hops, passion flower and orange peel," she had read off the packet with a smile. With a nod to himself, Draco sprinkled some into the teapot before pouring the water over.

* * *

Pausing by the bed, Draco placed the tea tray on her nightstand, the teapot charmed to keep warm as she slept. He faltered for a moment, frowning at the witch as she slept, before returning to where he had slept.

Opening the book he had snagged from downstairs, he settled back down on the bed. Beside him Hermione half stirred as she curled into him once more, and Draco found himself absently stroking her hair as he read.

* * *

Several hours later Hermione woke, her head aching in the dull way that told her she had slept too long. For a moment she was confused by the feeling of a person underneath her head; it was a very long time since she had woken in bed with another person. Breathing in, the distinctly male scent that flooded her senses reminded her she was in bed with Draco. Embarrassed, she pulled away, feeling him stir under her.

"Sorry, I must have dozed off," he mumbled, glancing at his wristwatch as he lifted his book from off his chest. His eyes drifted to Hermione and she refused to make eye contact, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Draco shifted onto his side, sliding down from where he had been half sat up reading, cupping her cheek. "Hey, it's okay," he told her, his lips pressing to her forehead. He felt a tear hit his thumb as he stroked her cheek.

"Shush," he whispered, his hand going to her hair and pulling her close. "Let me take care of you."

Hermione nodded slightly, feeling numb but for the sense of a dam breaking inside her heart as tears spilled forth silently.

* * *

Some time later, Draco padded down the back stairs and into the kitchen intent on finding something to eat. He was surprised to see bowls of soup and plates of sandwiches on a tray with a note. Opening the note he smiled to himself.

_Chicken soup is good for the soul, I am told._

_Oliver_

He wasn't entirely convinced Hermione would eat, but he was sure she would be far more willing to eat the food that Oliver had left when he had come by as they slept, rather than whatever Draco managed to concoct.

When Draco returned he found her staring blankly at the wall. Kneeling down beside her, he felt her reach out and grab his hand tight.

"Oliver brought over some soup and sandwiches, and I made you tea," he whispered, watching as she nodded slightly before trying to sit herself up. Draco steadied her movements and for a moment he felt himself pulled back in time to a moment, not long before Astoria died, helping her to sit and eat as the curse took hold, draining her more each day. He shook the image from his mind as he propped Hermione up, his arm draping over her shoulders. Passing her the bowl, he felt her tremble slightly, and held it secure as she took a few spoonfuls.

Hermione didn't feel hungry, knots in her stomach making it impossible for her to eat. Sensing this, Draco placed the bowl back on the tray, offering her a cup of tea. Her fingers curled around the cup as she closed her eyes, inhaling the soft aroma. She took a small sip and felt her spirits raise slightly. Resting her head on Draco's shoulder, she felt his fingers come up and massage her scalp.

* * *

Startling with a jolt, Hermione looked down expecting to have spilt tea over herself, having not realised she had dropped off. Instead she felt Draco pull her closer.

"Shush, it's okay," he whispered. "I took the cup from you when I thought you were drifting off. Nothing worse than falling asleep holding a drink," he chuckled softly. "I once fell asleep in my study holding a glass of firewhiskey. Even Jude thought I stank like a brewery. Or Blaise."

"Are you still in touch?" her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear her. It was the first thing she had said to him in more than twenty four hours.

"Yes; he moved to Venice just after the war but he comes back for Christmas. Mother wouldn't forgive him if he didn't."

At the mention of Christmas he felt Hermione tremble slightly, fresh tears tracking down her cheeks.

Draco cursed his own stupidity for not realising the mention of the coming holiday would further upset her. Had this been the cause of Hermione's current state? He considered Marcus' words the night before. No. Her obvious upset from Rose's letter was perhaps a primary trigger but it was not the underlying reason for her distress. A sudden wave of guilt almost overwhelmed him as he tugged her into his side, gently soothing her, unconsciously pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. While he knew it to be irrational to blame himself, he couldn't help but consider the part he had played. And yet, here he was, after everything that had happened from the moment he met her bushy haired eleven year old self, to the moment he walked into her seaside bookshop, lying in her bed consoling her. He almost chuckled at how surreal the thought was.

Looking down at her, he realised she had fallen asleep once more. Vaguely wondering how one person could sleep so much, he shifted slightly to reach for the book he had been reading that lay abandoned on the other side of the bed.

"Don't leave me," he heard her mumble as her fingers clasped his shirt.

"I'm not," he whispered. "I was just grabbing my book."

Half awake, Hermione reached out, patting the duvet until she located the book, her hand grasping it and dropping it on his chest.

"What are you reading?" she asked as she settled down once more.

Draco's pale skin blushed slightly. "Well." he began. "I took a break from researching yesterday, before…" he frowned as he trailed off, not knowing how best to label the events that had transpired. "I confess I was rather curious about some of your other books, particularly the muggle fairytale ones," he rambled on feeling her smile against him.

"Which one?" she whispered.

"Beauty and the Beast," he replied, flushing at the appropriateness. "I'd ask if you had read it, but then look who I am talking to," he gently mocked.

"It's one of my favourites," she replied, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth thoughtfully, considering the request she wanted to make.

"That Gaston bloke reminds me of Ron," he smiled, looking down at her, unsure if the mention of her ex husband would further upset her.

Beside him Hermione chuckled, the vibration across Draco's ribs vaguely stirring him.

"Draco?" he heard her ask quietly.

He hummed his reply as he kissed her once more.

"Will you read to me?"

Draco smiled. "Only if you never tell a living soul you got me to read fairytales to you. One needs to maintain one's reputation, you understand?"

* * *

Hermione and Draco spent three days lying in bed, cocooned in their own little world. Unbeknownst to Draco, Hermione was comforting him as much as he was comforting her. When Draco wasn't reading to her, he was making her tea or fetching the soup Oliver left each morning, or holding her as she slept. He felt something stir in his heart that had been lying dormant until now, like the invisible thread that pulled him to her was tying them together in an unbreakable bond.

Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Draco brought in the tea tray, depositing it on the nightstand. He crouched down beside her, brushing the loose curls that framed her face as she stared at the wall.

"Hey, you okay?" he whispered, stroking her face with the back of his hand.

"I need a shower, but I'm somewhat lacking in motivation," she replied, her words quiet and without feeling.

Draco regarded her for a moment before pulling back the covers.

Hermione's eyes found his, silently questioning him.

"Come on," he gently coaxed as Hermione raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. Draco met her look with one of his own that told Hermione he wasn't backing down. Sighing, she pulled herself upright, her toes spreading at the feeling of the carpet, glancing up at Draco.

She allowed Draco to walk her into the bathroom, watching as he reached into the shower and switched it on.

"You'll feel better for it, I promise," he whispered, nodding towards the shower before slipping back into the bedroom. Going to her dresser he glanced at the photos in their frames and for the first time he noticed the quiet sadness in her eyes in each of the photos, even when she was smiling.

He pulled a pair of her yoga pants and a top he knew to be one of her favourites out of the drawer, placing them on the bed ready for her. Gathering the teapot and cups, he made his way down the backstairs to make her a fresh pot of tea. Upon returning to the bedroom, he was surprised to hear the shower still running and gently knocked on the door.

"Hermione?" he called, frowning.

No reply came. Instead he heard the distinct sound of faint sobs; a sound that transported him back to sixth year and in his mind he was staring at his own tear tracked reflection in the third floor bathroom.

His hand curled around the doorknob as if it had a mind of its own, his movements seemingly apart from his thoughts.

"Hermione?" he called once more, gently opening the door enough to see the outline of her body as she sat on the floor of the shower sobbing. Grabbing a towel from the cubby in the corner, he gently opened the door of the cubical, draping the towel over her as he reached up to shut the water off. Stepping into the shower, he sat down on the floor, wrapping the towel around her before pulling her into his lap. Her damp curls soaked his t-shirt as his trousers soaked up the water where he sat, but he did not care. All he cared about was the broken witch in his arms, as he gently rocked her back and forth.

* * *

Eventually the sobs that wracked her body abated and Draco was able to coax her into the bedroom, answering her pleading eyes with silent ascent as he helped her to dress. Hearing the pop of apparition he glanced down into the courtyard below to see Marcus looking up. With a nod to the dark haired wizard, and a squeeze of reassurance to Hermione's hand, he made his way down to the kitchen.

"How is she?" Marcus asked, eyes full of concern.

Draco shrugged. He had never seen anyone so broken by melancholy, least of all Hermione Granger. "She doesn't seem much better, to be honest. Although she ate a little more today than she did yesterday, and I was able to get her to take a shower and put on some clothes," Draco informed him. Marcus raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes.

"She was in pyjamas before. I've got her into a pair of yoga pants and that old Gryffindor shirt she loves."

"I bet that was fun for you," Marcus grinned.

Draco flushed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Take the girl out of Hogwarts but you can't take the house out of the girl," he clarified, noting the way the embarrassment flickered to relief. Marcus was aware of the attraction Draco felt, even if Draco wasn't consciously aware of it himself. "And we are no different, are we not? Rivalries still run deep, even after all this time."

Draco frowned. "You live with a Gryffindor," he reminded him.

"And don't I know it. That man is stubborn as a Hippogriff." Marcus chuckled as Draco unconsciously rubbed his arm, before sighing as he changed the subject back to Hermione.

"Try and get her out of the bedroom so she isn't so inclined to sleep," Marcus implored quietly, his eyes meeting Draco's as the blond wizard furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Yes, sleeping helps at the start, but you need to encourage her out of the bed now or she will be inclined to stay there for eternity," Marcus explained before glancing at his watch.

"I need to get back before the idiot burns the place down, I swear he will be the death of me," he muttered, stepping out the back door.

"How's Pansy?" Draco asked, the question causing Marcus to flash him a lopsided grin. "She is baking," he replied with a look that suggested there was more to that statement than first appeared.

"Baking?" Draco repeated causing Marcus to nod.

"Baking. If you don't hear from me again assume I have been buried under a mountain of muffins," he winked, causing Draco to chuckle as Marcus turned on the spot and disapparated.

Returning to the bedroom, he found Hermione sat on the bed, her damp curls soaking her top. Smiling he picked up the towel beside her and crawled on the bed behind her. With gentle hands he tipped her hair back, lifting the towel and gently squeezing the excess water out.

"How did you.." Hermione began, her words trailing off.

"Did I know to do that?" he smiled, his words soft and quiet. "I was married, Hermione. My wife…" he paused, the familiar wave of bittersweet remembrance washing over him. "The curse that took her life, took her magic first. I learnt to take care of her in small ways."

"Like you have me?" Hermione whispered, her eyes closed as she relaxed into his touch.

"Yes," he whispered, his hands slowing to stillness.

Slipping off the bed, he took her hand once more.

"Come and show me how your tv works," he smiled, tugging her hand.

"Draco, I…" she began.

"Come on, I've brought up that blanket you love, we can snuggle on the sofa like you do with Pansy and we can watch one of those things you like," he waved vaguely as he tried to remember what she had called them.

Hermione smiled despite herself. "DVDs"

"Yes, that's them," he replied enthusiastically as he tugged her hand until she stood.

Minutes later they were indeed curled up, Draco's arms around Hermione, the blanket snug around them both as Hermione hit play on the remote.

"Are all movies black and white?" he asked as Pygmalion started.

"No, just the classic old ones like this," she murmured, smiling as she snuggled down.

Draco felt her hand slip under his t-shirt, her cool fingers making him shudder slightly as they slipped over his warm flesh, her palm pressing to his chest, as Hermione settled down, lulled once more into peacefulness by the gentle beat of his heart.


	9. Chapter 8

Sharp pain pierced in Draco’s neck, causing him to wake.  Turning his head from side to side, he grunted, his hand reaching up to cup the sore spot, glaring at the arm of the sofa as he did so.  For a moment he did not register the ease at which he moved the rest of his body, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa as he thrust the threadbare blanket that had been twisted around his torso to one side.  Grinding the heel of his hand against his tired eyes, he became aware of a gnawing feeling that he had forgotten something.

 

Blinking, he surveyed the room, trying to ascertain what he was missing.  Teacups, he thought vaguely, half wondering why his tired brain was focusing on such a mundane object.  Teacups, his mind repeated as Draco half scowled, half yawned.

“Teacups,” he mumbled to himself confusedly, just as realisation dawned.  “Hermione?” he attempted to call, his words lost to a second yawn as he stretched.  Standing, he glanced down at the teacups strewn on the coffee table, the china clinking in the silence as he picked them up.  Padding down the backstairs, he called her name again, leaning against the wall to negotiate the piles of books that had seemed to have grown over night, not wanting to drop the teacups.  

 

Turning into the kitchen, he placed the cups on the sideboard and pulled out his wand.  He knew Hermione liked to do things the muggle way, but on this occasion he was sure a swish and a flick wouldn’t hurt, smirking to himself as he watched the cups find their way to their places.  Scratching his head, he made his way into the shop, leaning casually against a bookcase, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her unnoticed.

 

Hermione tutted as she broke a quill, tossing it to one side as she simultaneously pulled a fresh one from her messy bun.  Eleven year old Draco would have mocked the scene that adult Draco now found endearing.  He revelled in his voyeurism as Hermione furiously scribbled, turning the pages of the books in front of her with an almost manic fervour.

“Onto something?” Draco asked, his tone light but not mocking.  

Hermione smiled as she nodded, unstartled by his announced presence, as if she had been expecting him to interrupt her.

“I think I might be, yes,” her words rushed out as Draco pushed away from the bookcase,  coming to stand behind her with one hand braced on the table, the other gripping the back of her chair just behind her right shoulder.  He engulfed her personal space, his breath on her bare neck, tickling her jaw teasingly as he leaned in to read over her shoulder.  Hermione could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the feeling causing her to tingle all over as a blush bathed her skin in a honey-kissed glow.  If Draco was aware of the effect his close proximity was having on her, he gave no sign of it as Hermione dragged her teeth over the plump flesh of her bottom lip in a vain hope of maintaining some composure.

 

Above her, Draco caught the action out of the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a slight smile that betrayed nothing of the inner turmoil he was experiencing.  He would be lying if he were to say he was ignorant of the change in the dynamic of their relationship over the last few days.  His father had taught him not only to quash emotion in himself, but how to read emotion in other people.  During his teenage years he had used the knowledge to his advantage, as was the Slytherin way; however adult Draco was sensitive to the kaleidoscope of emotions he had witnessed in her over the past week.  He could not deny the knowledge that he was indeed attracted to Hermione, and all physiological evidence pointed to the attraction being mutual, but she was like a wild horse: frightened, unsure and vulnerable, and her sudden eagerness to pour herself into work was not so much indication that sunshine and rainbows had broken through the storms of her psyche as it was a display of a desire to regain some control.  Draco would be the first to admit his knowledge of muggle psychology was limited, but he had read enough now to understand the heightened mood did not mean everything was alright.  Draco swallowed hard, quashing the growing feeling of wanting to pull her from the chair and into his arms once more.  Understanding, it seemed, awoke a protective streak in him that he had not experienced before.  

 

“Draco, are you even listening to me?” Hermione’s voice suddenly broke through his reverie, causing his eyes to snap their focus, meeting her smiling hazel orbs that danced with an easy mocking.  

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Honestly,” she huffed, swatting him playfully on his arm.  A look passed between them momentarily causing Draco’s heart to pound in his chest as Hermione wet her lip.  

 

Opening his mouth to issue a retort, or perhaps an ill thought-through confession, he was cut off by an unexpected hooting from the kitchen.  Keeping his eyes on hers he stepped back as Hermione pushed herself up from her work, making her way out to retrieve the missive from, it seemed, a somewhat put out owl.  As she left the main room of the store, Draco let out a breath he was unaware he was holding in, carding his hand through his hair frustratedly.  Inwardly he cursed himself.

“It’s for you,” he heard Hermione call from the kitchen as she began brewing yet more tea while simultaneously rummaging around the cupboard for a treat.

“I swear I’ve never seen anyone consume as much tea as you,” Draco chuckled as he picked up the parchment from where Hermione had left it on the table whilst watching the owl, now placated with treats, depart the kitchen.

 

Hermione tutted as Draco tore into the letter, smiling with recognition at the handwriting.  Handing him his tea, she sat down at the kitchen table, waiting patiently as he read the note from his son, her mind drifting back to the first time she had seen Draco with Scorpius.  She had been awestruck by the devotion and care he had shown his son, the scene forcing her to reevaluate every harsh prejudiced thought she had of him.  Gone was the snide bully she had encountered in her formative years, replaced with a man she had grown to respect; someone she now realised she counted as a friend.

 

“Oh, Merlin!” Draco groaned, his eyes meeting Hermione’s questioning ones.  “I completely forgot Scorpius had asked if Albus could visit for the holidays.”

“Ah,” Hermione replied, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach vaguely registering with her as the thought of Christmas without her own children gnawed at her.  She took a sip of her tea as Draco watched her curiously, registering her badly masked disappointment.

“Would you perhaps consider coming to spend Christmas with us at the Manor, Hermione?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

 

Hermione closed her eyes as memories flooded her senses, flashes of images blurring in her mind’s eye, her grip on her teacup tightening.  It had been years since she had thought about her impromptu visit to Malfoy Manor at the hands of snatchers, but years later she still suffered the trauma of an almost forgotten past.  Echos of what seemed like a lifetime ago reverberated across the years, like ripples on a pond, the trauma still wounding her in its own unique way, shaping her actions and reactions in the most unconscious of ways.

 

Shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, she started slightly at Draco’s touch as he reached out and placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

“I can’t…” she began as Draco placed the fingertips of his free hand to her trembling lips, instantly causing them to still, silencing her as her eyes found his.  Where in the past she had found only scorn and ridicule, she now found them swimming with a depth of understanding that made her heart flutter.  

 

Slowly, Draco lifted his fingers, cupping her cheek gently as his thumb brushed away the lone tear that tracked down her pale face.  Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, her mind, that had been roaring with white noise, suddenly silenced; the fluttering in her heart increase as Draco leaned in.  She closed her eyes, uncertain what was to happen next, unsure of what she  **wanted** to happen next.  Then, painfully slowly, she felt Draco’s lips graze her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the emotion in his voice causing it to crack in a way that resonated deep within Hermione.  

 

She had often wondered what she would do, what she would say, if Draco ever worked up the courage to say those two words: what meaning they would hold for her, if any.  The fleeting wondering had begun the day she dropped Rose off at Kings Cross for her first trip to Hogwarts, as their eyes briefly met across the platform.  Then, when they had come to an understanding in her office when their children had been in peril, she wondered again.  He, of course, had made light of the tension:  _ “I’m being bossed around by Hermione Granger.  And I’m mildly enjoying it,” _ he had quipped, causing her to smile.  She briefly thought of him as she packed her bags while Ron sat emotionally drained, his head in his hands, evidence of the tears shed soaking his shirt.  She had wanted to disappear.  To not be found by anyone.  Would her wishes be respected? She had wondered.  Would anyone insist on finding her? What sort of person would do that?   _ “A stubborn Slytherin,” _ her mind had answered.  _  “Who’s the most stubborn Slytherin I know?”  _ she questioned, giving her reflection a lopsided, half sarcastic smile as she cleared her vanity,  _ “Why, Draco Malfoy,”  _ her mind countered.  She had laughed at the absurdity of the thought, the noise causing Ron to look up sharply, confused.   _ “I fail to see what is so funny,”  _ he had snarked, hurt and anger rich in his voice before storming from the room, leaving Hermione to her bizarre train of near hysterical thought, her mind insisting on wondering...If Draco should come knocking, what could he possibly say that would have any impact on her?  Would he apologise?  Would she believe him, however sincere he appeared?

 

And now, here he was, and the two words she had wondered about now hung in the air between them.  But it was more than the words and the sincerity with which they were said.  It was the fact that Hermione could feel the words that had her wrapping her arms around his waist, tracking up the contours of his shoulders as she felt his body start to tremble, and cupping his neck as he began to sob into the bare flesh of her neck.

“I know,” she whispered back.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t want to leave you alone for the holidays,” Draco’s words suddenly filled Hermione’s ears as he lifted his head from her damp shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” she waved a hand dismissively as she frowned slightly at the remnants of the now stone cold tea.  Dragging her chair back noisily as Draco regained his composure, Hermione began bustling about making a fresh pot.

“I could tell Scorp he needs to stay..”

“No,” Hermione said firmly, turning to face Draco as he looked up.  “A child should be with family for Christmas.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her.  “We never were.”

“That was different,” Hermione snapped before softening.  “Don’t tell Scorpius he cannot come home because of me.”

“It wouldn’t be because of you,” Draco insisted, standing and coming to take Hermione’s hands in his own.  “But it would allow me to look after you.”

Hermione screwed up her face at the thought.  “I don’t need looking after,” she countered, flushing slightly at the realisation that he had in fact been doing just that.

“No, that is true, you are Miss Independent, Ms Gordon,” Draco replied, his eyes dancing with sarcastic humour.  “But you do need a friend right now…”

Hermione turned back to the teapot as it whistled on the stove.  “I have Pansy, Oliver, and Marcus,” she shrugged, trying to sound as though she was fine with the idea of Draco returning to the Manor.  “I have my friends,” she clarified.

“Oh, so what am I then?” Draco asked, feigning hurt as Hermione sprinkled the tea leaves into the water in the teapot.

 

Hermione turned, opening her mouth to reply but Draco cut her off.

“Listen, I have an idea.  After the war I needed some time out, so I took my inheritance and I bought this cottage in the Scottish Highlands,” he began, taking her hands in his once more.  “Now I think about it, it isn’t far from Wood’s parents,” he frowned, pausing before shaking his head slightly.  “Why don’t the four of you accompany Scorp and I, and I will write to Potter.  He knows of the cottage.  It is right in the middle of a loch filled with Salmon.  Albus has visited to go fishing with Scorp many times.”

“Malfoys fish?” Hermione asked, somewhat perplexed by the very notion.

“That is what you took from that?” Draco replied, equally shocked.  “I invite you to spend Christmas with me and your response is to question the fact that we fish?”

Hermione let out a little giggle at Draco’s mock rant.  “Fine, okay, yes…”

“Oh don’t sound too enthusiastic,”he frowned, as she handed him a fresh cup of tea.  As he took it from her, he felt her touch her hand to his wrist.

“Yes, Draco, that would be lovely,” she told him, giving his wrist a small squeeze before brushing past him into the main room of the shop.  “Of course you will need to owl the others, but I am sure they will think it a wonderful idea,” she called as Draco took a moment to register her sudden flurry of activity.  Stepping into the shop, he caught sight of her rummaging around her notes as she searched for a fresh piece of parchment.

 

“Syrup of Hellebore: a muscle relaxant, to induce a relaxed feeling across the body which helps the mind to relax,” he read over her shoulder, before pulling the note pad closer, frowning.  “African salt: medicinal and psychic properties, increases effectiveness of potions.  Asphodel: brings on calm and sleep…” he paused.  “This seems familiar…” his voice trailed off momentarily before his eyes widened.  “Draught of peace!” he exclaimed, turning to see Hermione smiling brightly up at him.

“I found what looks like an advanced version of the potion scribbled in the notes here,” she pointed to the writing.  

“Laxamentum Draught,” he read.  “Can’t say I’ve heard of it before now,” he remarked, reading through Hermione’s scribbled notes.  “Have you come across it before?”

Hermione frowned.  “No, but I have come across muggle remedies that contain some of the more common ingredients.”

Draco scoffed.

“Muggles have found them to be very successful and clearly they are onto something even if they are missing key magical components,” Hermione defended as Draco held his hands up defensively.

“Okay, okay, but from what I see here, it’s just a list of ingredients.”

Hermione sighed, taking the book and listing them.  “Asphodel, Honeywater, Moondew drops, Wolfsbane, Sopophorous beans, Valerian, Lemon Balm, Passion Flower, Camomile and Kava Kava.”  She looked up to see Draco nodding intently.

“Okay, so you are the Brightest Witch of Our Age, right?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the title but Draco pretended not to notice.  “And I am pretty skilled at potions,” he paused to quirk an eyebrow at her as she tried in vain to suppress a smirk.  “You might have come first, Granger, but I was always close second...sixth year doesn’t count,” he said loudly as Hermione started to protest.  “So we can work this out!”

“How?” Hermione countered, gesturing around the shop.  “This is a bookshop, Malfoy, do you see any cauldrons just lying about?”

Draco laughed at her serious expression.  “No, silly witch, but my cottage just so happens to have a fully equipped potions room,” he replied, triumphantly.

 

 

 


	10. Nine

Hermione curled her fingers around the teacup as she lifted it to her lips, closing her eyes slightly, inhaling the soft aroma of the Earl Grey tea.  Taking a sip, she stared out across the Loch, shivering slightly.

She felt Draco standing there before he placed his strong hands on her shoulders, a feeling of warmth causing her shivers to subside and her demeanour to relax.  Closing her eyes, she felt him wrap the shawl he had brought out to the cottage verandah where she stood, more firmly around her shoulders.

“I know you prefer blankets to warming charms,” he told her, his voice soft as he lifted the curls that the blanket trapped, his fingers grazing the nape of her neck, causing a completely different shiver to wash over her.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind she recalled the vague feeling: longing.  She briefly wondered when she had last felt anything remotely akin to the feeling that hummed softly, frowning slightly before her curiosity waned.

“Thank you,” she replied, a soft smile gracing her lips.

 

“I had a feeling you would enjoy the verandah,” Draco smiled as he leaned against the balustrade.

“The view is beautiful from here,” she conceded, glancing over his shoulder to watch a little boy run down the jetty on the opposite shore, his arm lifting suddenly to skim the stone he had been clutching tight in this hand, across the silent water.

After all this time it still made her breath hitch in her throat, adrenaline suddenly spiking as her chest tightened, when the smallest things triggered memories that had long since been buried deep in the recesses of her psyche.

 

Draco watched her quiver, her face paling slightly, his concern for her rising as he reached out a hand to steady her before taking the teacup from her vice-like grip. Silently he pulled her into his arms, knowing better than to question what had triggered her panic attack, stroking her hair softly as she steadied her breathing.  He felt her wrap an arm around his waist, her free hand coming up to grip his jumper, seeking comfort from him and he gave it to her freely.

 

At times, despite her issues, Draco envied the way she was able to let her mask drop, raw emotion emanating from her.  He would be lying if he said he didn’t crave the same sort of release.  Admittedly he had come a long way from the enforced stoicism of his childhood but he was a long way off the freedom of emotional expression Hermione, despite her broken and tortured state, experienced.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione’s voice broke Draco’s train of thought, causing him to pull back, his confused eyes searching hers as her fingers brushed away the tears that settled like dew drops on her eyelashes.  She chuckled nervously, as she looked away, taking in the silence around them.  “I don’t know why I am laughing,” she told him, shrugging slightly.

“Why are you sorry?” Draco asked, taking her hands in his.

“I am broken, Draco.   I know you don’t understand me, but it’s okay because I don’t understand me,” Hermione told him, her voice quiet as a whisper, her eyes refusing to meet his.

“I think I understand you a little better than you give me credit for,” Draco replied, giving her hands a slight squeeze as he caught and held her gaze.  

 

Hermione felt herself hum, a vague sense of desire building once more as something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on wrapped itself around her heart.  She had been numb for so long that she almost didn’t recognise the feeling of wanting someone to kiss her.  Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, inhaling the now familiar lemony bergamot scent that drifted into Jasmine; uplifting and slightly sweet with hints of woody vanilla and cinnamon.  She knew his cologne by heart now, allowing the feeling to wash over her as she breathed it in.  Memories of the two of them in close proximity flooded her senses and she allowed unbidden desire to build as she accepted what she already knew: she was sexually attracted to, and was aroused by, Draco Malfoy.  

 

Her heart thumped in her chest as she felt herself drawn into him, edging ever slowly to what she now considered to be inevitable.  Accepting fate, she wet her lip slightly, her mouth parting as Draco touched his forehead to hers.  For a moment Hermione’s mind went blank at the unexpected yet comforting gesture.  Sighing deeply, she could not help the feeling of disappointment she felt wash over her.

* * *

 

Two days later, Hermione was curled up with a book, under the same blanket Draco had used as a shawl to wrap her in, sitting on the verandah when she heard the familiar whoosh of the floo.  Suddenly, animated chatter filled the silent cottage as the teenage boys and Harry made their way through the cottage looking for the pair.  Hermione heard the creaking of floorboards followed by the sound of Draco rushing down the stairs to greet his son.

 

“I thought I might find you out here,” a familiar voice dragged Hermione from her reverie.  Looking up she saw Harry leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, smiling at her.  “How are you?”

Hermione smiled.  “I am well, thank you.”

Harry pushed away from the doorframe coming to sit on the chair beside hers.  Pushing his glasses up, he lifted the book from her hands and turned it over to peruse the title.  He frowned as he read aloud: “‘The Elements of Potion Making.’  Would it kill you to read a novel every now and then?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“You’ve spent too much time with Draco,” Hermione commented, attempting to take the book from him, avoiding answering his question.

“I am not the one living with him,” Harry stated giving her a pointed look as he held the book away from her.

Hermione reached up and snatched the book from him, colouring slightly.  “I am not living with Draco Malfoy,” she snapped, a little shocked by the defensiveness in her voice, fixing her gaze on Harry defiantly.  For a moment neither said a word as they shared a look that was only broken by Draco coughing as he stepped out onto the verandah, unsure what, if anything, he had interrupted.  He wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable in his own home and the slight pang of jealousy hit him unexpectedly.

 

“The boys want a hot chocolate, would you like one, Hermione?” Draco asked, watching as something passed between the pair in front of him.  

“Yes please, that would be lovely,” Hermione answered, smiling reassuringly at Draco who nodded before ducking back inside.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Harry reminded her as she wrapped the blanket more securely around herself.

“I presumed it was rhetorical,” Hermione answered, settling back down and focusing her attention.  Harry said nothing, waiting while Hermione dragged her teeth across her bottom lip.  Finally she spoke.  “It’s research.”

“Isn’t it always?” Harry chuckled, leaning forwards slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he laced his hands together.

Hermione smiled, nostalgia washing over her as she recalled countless hours in the Hogwarts library, pouring over books of one subject or another in their efforts to vanquish the Dark Lord.  “We are a product of our past experiences,” she shrugged.  

“You more than anyone,” Harry commented, holding her gaze.

Hermione shook her head.  “This isn’t for me.”  

Harry frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose.  

“This is for Draco,” she continued before rushing out an explanation of their combined efforts to help those who were still struggling with the effects of the war.

“So it could be used to help you,” Harry said once she paused to take a breath.

“I’m more concerned about Pansy,” Hermione informed him.  Harry looked at her, confused.  “But from your letters it seems as though Pansy is getting better.”  Harry paused before continuing.  “When are you going to stop putting everyone else first and start healing yourself?”

Hermione said nothing, shaking her head, willing the tears that threatened not to spill forth.

“I’m not having this conversation, Harry,” Hermione muttered, quickly rubbing her eyes dry as Draco called out that the drinks were ready.  Standing, she gathered up her blanket, feeling Harry reach out to grab her hand.  “Hermione,” he began, pausing as she stared back at him.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  It’s just I have watched you do this ever since we were eleven years old.  All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I want that too, Harry,” Hermione whispered.  “I just don’t think this is the answer for me,” she gestured with the book.  “Just let me find my own way,” she told him, squeezing his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione opened her eyes and for a moment felt confused as to her surroundings.  Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and realised she must have fallen asleep on the couch.  Harry was gone, and Draco had cleared away the mugs of hot chocolate, covering her with a blanket as she slept.  Glancing around the lounge, she wondered what the time was as it had grown dark outside.  Rising from the couch she yawned and stretched, her muscles aching slightly from where she had been curled up, and wondered where Draco and the boys were.  Wandering through the cottage, orange light caught her eye as she glanced out the bay windows and she realised the three had lit a campfire outside and were huddled around it toasting marshmallows.

Draco smiled as she made her way down the steps towards the shore of the Loch where the three were sat.  He patted the ground beside himself and nudged her playfully as she wrapped the blankets around herself.  “I saved you some marshmallows,” he told her, handing her the bag and a toasting fork.  

“Look at those two,” he whispered, as Scorpius and Albus shared a private joke, laughing together.  “I’ve not seen him this happy or relaxed in a long time,” Draco commented, nodding to Scorpius.

Hermione smiled as she toasted her marshmallow, her gaze drifting over the pair and then sideways at Draco who reached out to brush a loose curl away from her face.

“You seem more relaxed this evening, too,” he commented.  Hermione leaned into Draco’s hand, closing her eyes.

 

Suddenly a cry went out, causing Hermione’s eyes to snap open, as Albus jabbed Scorpius who held his side laughing.  Scorpius took his revenge, pressing a sticky marshmallow into Albus’ cheek.  Albus roared as he wiped the sticky mess from his face, mashing it against Scorpius’ lips.  Scorpius responded by taking Albus’ hand and pulling him in for a soft kiss.  Hermione and Draco sat dumbfounded by the ease at which Albus reacted.  

 

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Hermione blushed and glanced at Draco who clearly didn’t know how to react to his son kissing his boyfriend so openly.  Hermione stood, reaching down to take Draco by the hand.  “Come on,” she whispered, tugging him up and nodding towards the shore.  “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

“It’s not like I didn’t know,” Draco began after several minutes of silent walking.  “And I have no issue with it. I just…” his voice trailed off.

“Wasn’t expecting him to kiss Albus so openly like that?” Hermione suggested by way of finishing his sentence.

“Well, no.”

Hermione chuckled.  “It’s completely normal to react like that to your own child kissing another,” she reassured him, squeezing his hand as they picked their way along the stony shore of the Loch.  

Hermione continued to chuckle.  

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Draco commented, scowling as they came to a standstill facing each other.

“Oh relax,” Hermione replied, stepping up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.  Draco responded with a turn of his head, capturing her lips with his own as his fingers found their way into her chocolate curls, Hermione relaxing into his touch.

When they parted a few moments later Draco chuckled, suddenly nervous.  “You have no idea how much I have wanted to do that,” he breathed.

“Probably as much as I wanted you to,” she replied, smiling, before kissing him soundly once more.

  
  
  
  



	11. Ten

Several days later, Hermione was sat reading once more when Draco suddenly burst in.

“I think you need to take a look at what I am brewing,” he informed her, breathlessly.

Hermione frowned over her book at the disheveled blond.  “You look as though you haven’t slept in days,” Hermione commented, concerned by how frantic his demeanour appeared.

“I’m fine,” he replied, dismissing her concerns with a wave of his hand as he tugged her from the sofa.

“So what has you so excited then?” Hermione asked as she followed him to his potions room, which she had previously been barred from entering as Draco preferred to work alone.

“All your reading said that the Laxamentum Draught had to be brewed exactly, correct?” Draco asked, glancing at Hermione as he showed her into the small room at the back of the cottage.

“Yes.  My reading said that the process was very specific: the moondew drops had to be collected on the full moon at exactly one hour before dawn; the African Salt had to be collected from a specific mine in Ghana; the asphodel had to be collected from the Western Himalayas. That much was clear, but as for the specific brewing, the notes were vague at best.”  Hermione frowned as Draco nodded furiously.

“And every attempt I had tried so far went horribly wrong,” Draco shuddered.  “It was like having Seamus Finnegan in here.”

“That’s mean,” Hermione scowled for a moment before her expression softened slightly.  “Although it does explain the sudden explosion yesterday...that you had me believe was the boys!” Hermione swatted his arm.

“Yes, well, I was hardly going to admit it was the result of my failure, was I?” Draco smirked, snatching his arm away before she could swat it again.  “Anyway, I got to thinking about your teas.”

“My teas?” Hermione echoed, her nose scrunching up a little.  

“Yes; we know from the author’s notes that he spent a long time in Northern India.  Now we presumed that was because he was collecting the rather specific asphodel flowers,” he paused as Hermione pulled out a stool from under his bench, nodding.

“But what if it was more than that?” Draco asked.  “I was reading the back of one of your packets of tea the other day.”

“You were reading the tea packet?” Hermione questioned, humour in her voice.

“Yes,” Draco replied emphatically.  

“I see,” Hermione chuckled, smiling up at him as he continued.

“Tea is from India.”

“Funnily enough, I am aware,” Hermione laughed.

Draco shook his head.  “No, you don’t understand.  What if he spent so long in India because he was perfecting the brewing process,” Draco stepped aside to allow Hermione to peer into the cauldron.  

“It looks like Earl Grey,” she commented, screwing up her nose.  “Smells a bit like it too.”

Draco nodded.  “Exactly,” he replied, a hint of triumph in his voice.  “Every attempt I made before this was the consistency of syrup…”

“Because of the hellebore,” Hermione interrupted, nodding knowingly.

“Yes; but when you brew it like a fragrant tea, this is what you get.”

 

Hermione sat, lost in thought for a moment,before glancing up at Draco.  “So what makes you think this is correct?”

Draco dropped down onto the stool next to her.  “Two things,” he began.  “Firstly, the syrupy consistency is nothing like sleeping draught and since this is a lighter version of that, I figure a light consistency is what we are looking for.  Secondly, you told me that muggles use a surprising amount of herbs, that we use in potions, for relaxation.  Further, I have seen how much you relax drinking tea.”

“So there was a method in your madness when you were reading the tea packet,” Hermione smiled, amused.

“There was indeed.  Several of your teas contain similar ingredients.  You are basically brewing potions in that little teapot of yours,” Draco replied, giving Hermione a pointed look.

 

Hermione shifted a little in her seat.  “I know where you are going with this,” she murmured, looking away.

“We do need to test it,” Draco replied, shrugging casually.  “And I really do think it will help you relax.”

“Have you been talking to Harry?” Hermione accused, looking sharply at Draco who held his hands up in surrender.

“Not at all,” he replied before sighing heavily.  “It’s just I see you; every day I see you struggle, and that little tea habit you have helps,” he flashed her a smile as he nudged her gently.  “I don’t know,” he shook his head a little as Hermione looked sidelong at him.  “I just think it would help you not to struggle.”

“I will tell you what I told Harry:  I just want to see Pansy get better,” Hermione informed him, as Draco took her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

“If this works, she will.  But she won’t be here until Christmas Eve,”  Draco reminded her with a pointed look.

 

For several moments Hermione said nothing.  Finally, she spoke.  “Okay, but you had better be sure, Draco Malfoy, because I am not going to be your guinea pig.”

Draco snorted.  “I told you already, Granger: I am the best at potions.”

“Second best,” Hermione reminded him with a smile.  

“Fine, second best,” he conceded, pouring a little of the liquid into a teacup.

“I can’t believe you have talked me into being experimented on,” she murmured, taking the teacup from him, looking at him over the rim before taking a tentative sip.

 

For a few moments, Hermione looked at Draco as his eyes roved over her for any perceived change.  “What?” Hermione asked him, returning his quizzical looks.

“How do you feel?” he asked, a little concerned.

“Exactly the same as I did five minutes ago,” she replied, much to Draco’s obvious disappointment.  “Right, well, if I am not needed anymore, I shall go back to my reading,” Hermione informed him, rising from her seat.  As she stood, she faltered slightly.

“Everything okay?” Draco asked, his voice rich with concern.

“Yes, just came over a little dizzy.  Probably stood too quickly,” she replied, taking a moment before heading for the door.

  
  


As she reached out to turn the handle, she stumbled again.

“Hermione?” Draco called, coming to her side and catching her as she all but fell into his arms.

“I suddenly feel quite tired,” Hermione murmured as Draco scooped her into his arms, her eyelids drifting closed.

 

Carrying her through the cottage, Draco used his elbow to open the door to her bedroom before gently laying her on the bed.  Pulling the covers up around her, he was just about to leave her to sleep, when he felt her rouse slightly and reach for him.  Lifting her head, he slipped onto the bed and felt her snuggle down into him, his arm draped around her.  

 

Several hours later, Hermione roused from her slumber.  Stretching, she rolled over and found Draco asleep.  Lifting her hand, she brushed his fringe from his forehead.

“Stop watching me sleep,” Draco mumbled causing Hermione to giggle slightly.

“I can’t help it, you look peaceful,” she smiled as he draped an arm around her waist, tugging her close.

“Speaking of which, how are you feeling?” he asked, opening his eyes, searching hers.

“I actually feel quite rested.  That was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” Hermione replied.

“You had me worried for a moment,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Hermione reminded him.  “It’s how the brain resets itself.  However I do think the tea was a little potent,” she continued.  “You might have to adjust the formula.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be a guinea pig?” he joked as Hermione snuggled into his chest contentedly.

“I don’t.  But I don’t think it will take much adjustment,” Hermione replied, her fingers brushing Draco’s jaw line.

“I want to kiss you,” Draco informed her, changing the subject.

“So why don’t you?” she asked, looking up at him.

Draco chewed his lip for a moment before answering.  “I’m just worried about the changing dynamic between us.”

Hermione nodded, breaking eye contact.  “I understand.”  She made to pull away but Draco pulled her back.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her emphatically.

Hermione cupped his cheek with her hand.  “I understand, and thank you for being so patient with me, but I am not so fragile that I will break.  That isn’t why I left Ron.”

 

Draco shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her ex husband, feeling a stab of irrational jealousy.  This was the first time she had actively brought up the discussion of her past marriage.

“I left him because there was too much emotional pain there and he didn’t understand he was part of that. The war finally caught up with me and I needed to break away from it all because it was suffocating,” she explained, a painful edge to her voice.  “You are different to Ron in so many ways.”

“Obviously,” Draco scoffed, smirking at her, hoping to defuse the tension between them with his humour. 

Hermione pursed her lips giving him a look that told him to ‘knock it off.’  “You said it yourself: you understand me, sometimes better than I give you credit for.”

“You know, Marcus said he thought that I was the best person to look after you when you hit rock bottom,” he informed her.

Hermione gave him a sceptical look, but he insisted, “It’s true.”

“Yes, well Marcus can be pretty insightful,” she replied, a little cryptically.

Draco hummed in reply, nudging her playfully with his nose until she was looking up at him.  Wordlessly he pressed his lips to hers, tentatively at first, growing a little more insistent as she responded in kind.  His fingers wove into her hair as she pressed her palm to his chest, the pair sinking deeper into the kiss.  

 

Breaking away a few moments later, Draco pressed his forehead to hers.  “We can figure this out as we go then, yeah?” he asked, listening to her sigh contentedly.

“We can figure this out as we go,” she replied.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“We’re here!” The unmistakable voice of Pansy Parkinson called through the cottage as she flung open the front door theatrically, closely followed by Marcus and Oliver.  Snow had been falling, the Loch partially frozen, for the best part of a week.  A blizzard was swirling around the cottage, making it impossible for muggles to venture out and providing cover for the brunette witch and her wizard companions to apparate in without being noticed.  

 

Shaking off the snow, Pansy rubbed her hands together as she glanced around the entrance hall for signs of life.

“For the love of Merlin, woman, close the damned door,” bellowed Draco from the lounge as he threw another log on the fire.

“And Merry Christmas to you too,” grumbled Marcus as he shoved the front door shut. 

 

Despite the weightless and undetectable extension charms Hermione had taught him, Marcus was rather laden down with all the luggage Pansy and Oliver had insisted on bringing, as well as all the gifts they had brought for their hosts.  Dropping the packages down in the hall, Marcus glanced up.

“What on earth do you have on your head?” he asked, his brow knitting together in confusion.

Hermione blushed.

“It looks like the hats first years wore to the start of term feast...only redder,” he continued giving the peak of the hat a flick, causing it to slip a little.

Hermione straightened it up, rolling her eyes as Marcus chuckled.

“It’s called a Santa Hat.  Muggles wear them,” Hermione explained as she guided Marcus through to the lounge, where Draco had enveloped Pansy in a hug, while Oliver chatted animatedly with the boys.

“Well whatever it is, it looks disgusting,” he smirked as Hermione swatted his arm.

“I think it looks cute,” Draco commented, causing Pansy to pull back, eyeing him quizzically.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Draco Malfoy?” she questioned, only half joking.”

“Can’t one get in the festive mood without one’s friends thinking one is off his broom?” Draco asked, feigning hurt.

“One can, but usually only once one has started drinking!” Pansy replied in a mocking tone as she headed for the kitchen in search of wine.

“Stop referring to yourself as one,” Marcus said as he settled into the couch.  “It makes you sound like a right prick!”

“Language!” complained Oliver, gesturing to Scorpius and Albus with a nod of his head.  Turning to Hermione he took her hands and began scrutinising her for any signs of change.

“Now, young lady, how are we? Are we well?”

Hermione laughed as Oliver took hold of her chin, turning her face from left to right.  “I’m fine, honestly.

 

Draco frowned.  “When you have quite finished manhandling my girlfriend,” he complained, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, ignoring the looks that passed between Marcus, Oliver and Hermione as they silently questioned and she confirmed his statement, “maybe we could get on with the task at hand.”

“And what would that be?” Marcus asked, glancing from Hermione to Draco.

“Decorating the tree of course,” Hermione smiled.

Stepping away from Hermione, Draco crossed the room to the couch and grabbed a box from behind it.  “Of course Hermione is insisting on doing this the muggle way,” he commented as Oliver clasped his hands together like an excited child.

“Yes, and I have enough hats for everyone,” she laughed as she pulled them out from a box that she lifted up onto the coffee table.

“You cannot be serious,” Marcus stated, staring back at Hermione, almost daring her to make him.

“Well I think they are positively darling,” Pansy called, returning from the kitchen, wine glass in hand.  

“How many glasses did you sink out there?” Marcus asked as Hermione threw a hat at him, which he caught midair.

“Still got it,” he winked at Oliver as the others put on their hats and turned to Marcus expectantly.

“Fine,” he groused, forcing the hat on his head.  “Happy?”

“Very,” Hermione smiled.

* * *

 

 

The tree decked, Draco set about making hot chocolates while Pansy and Hermione huddled together in a corner of the lounge.

“So how are you really?” Pansy asked quietly, glancing to where Oliver and Marcus sat animatedly chatting with Scorpius and Albus.

“I’m fine,” Hermione replied as Pansy raised an unbelieving eyebrow at her.  “More to the point, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Pansy echoed Hermione’s statement causing Hermione to prod her sharply.

“That’s my line.”

“Yes; and that’s all it is.”  Pansy gave her a knowing look.

“It’s easier, here, somehow.  I don’t have the monotony of the bookshop, or the call of the sea.  The Loch is just so peaceful.  It’s soothing.”

Pansy’s face fell. “So does that mean you don’t want to come home?”

“Did I say that?” Hermione asked, watching as Pansy chewed her lip thoughtfully.  “All I meant was that I have found here a little bit of the peace I didn’t know I was looking for.”  Hermione shrugged.  “That’s all I know.”

 

Pansy chewed a fingernail distractedly as Hermione stared out of the window.  It was true, she considered; she had been searching for a peace she had never felt, without even knowing it.

“How does Draco feel?” Pansy asked, eyeing Hermione curiously. 

Hermione’s train of thought, that had been drifting aimlessly, came to a halt.  “I don’t actually know.  We haven’t done much talking.”

“Oooh get you!” Pansy hissed, a little too loudly for Hermione’s liking, causing the boys to look around briefly before returning to their deep conversation.

“It’s not like that,” Hermione hissed, as Draco returned with the hot chocolates.

“What isn’t like what?” he asked, glancing between the women as Pansy gave him a look.

“Oh. I see.  I know that look,” he replied awkwardly, “I’ll just be -” he gestured to the other side of the room before crossing the lounge.

 

Pansy turned back to Hermione.  “So what  _ is _ it like? I need details woman,” she smirked as Hermione flushed slightly.

“He sleeps with me now,” she replied as Pansy giggled.  “No, he actually sleeps with me,”

“Oh,” Pansy replied, clearly disappointed that the gossip was not as hot as she had thought.

“But more to the point, how are you doing?” Hermione asked, taking Pansy’s hand as the raven haired woman shrugged. 

“I am fine.  The panic attacks are coming less frequently now.  Marcus and Oliver have kept me busy and fed.  You know how much of a feeder Oliver is,” Pansy chuckled as she glanced over to where he was insisting to Draco that he would spend the evening baking.  Scorpius and Albus seemed to be more in favour of the idea than Draco, egging on Oliver in a way that reminded Hermione of the Weasley twins.  Eventually Draco backed down, and Albus settled back down, resting his head in the lap of a grinning Scorpius.

 

“Are you still relying on the medication from your muggle doctor to help you sleep?” Hermione asked Pansy as she returned her attention to their conversation.

Pansy nodded.  “I hate how much it sends me up and down.  I’m either high and not sleeping or low and teary or crashing completely,” Pansy sighed.

Hermione nodded in understanding.  “I have something to show you,” Hermione told her, standing up and motioning for the raven haired woman to follow her, as she glanced over at Draco who nodded his assent.

 

Several minutes later they were stood in Draco’s potions room as Pansy inspected the contents of the cauldron, her nose scrunched up.

“It smells like one of your teas,” she commented.  “I don’t recall old Snape making us brew anything like this.”

Hermione hummed in agreement.

“It’s Laxamentum Draught,” Hermione informed her, briefly giving her an explanation of the draught and how it was helping her.

“I feel more relaxed, more in touch with my own feelings, more peaceful and more rested.  I no longer feel like a zombie.  I am not sleeping half the day away, and I have noticed I don’t feel the cold as much.”

“So it’s like a tea only more refined and stronger?” Pansy asked, eyeing it sceptically.

“It is.  It relaxes you like a tea without that numbness that comes from taking medication,” Hermione explained.

“Draco could make a fortune with this,” Pansy commented, glancing at Hermione who shook her head.  “It isn’t easy to produce.  There will be a lot of cost involved as the asphodel comes from a specific mountain range and the formula has to be brewed exact.  Draco doesn’t plan to sell it: he wants to start a fund and work with St Mungo’s to produce it for those still suffering because of the war, for free.”

 

Pansy stared into the cauldron at the shimmering liquid.  “And you are sure this works?” 

Hermione nodded.  Just one small cup at bedtime sends you into a peaceful sleep.  It is not as strong as a sleeping draught but it is more potent than the Draught of Peace.

“Okay,” Pansy said, turning to Hermione.  “Let me try it.”

* * *

 

 

Eyes fluttering open, Pansy wondered for a moment how long she had been asleep.  Then, as her eyes focused on the curtains in the room, she started to wonder exactly where she had fallen asleep.  Pulling the covers off, she sat up, her bare feet wiggling a little on the soft rug that covered the wooden floor.  Rubbing her eyes, she yawned and stretched like a cat before standing up.  She had to admit that was one of the best sleeps she had experienced in recent memory, she considered as she mentally assessed how rested she felt.  

 

Padding to the door, she turned the handle, listening for sounds of life beyond the bedroom door.  Peeking her head out she counted four other doors along the corridor, with the stairs at the end of the little hallway.  One door had a little sign on the outside, Pansy was relieved to discover.

 

A few minutes later, feeling refreshed, she made her way down the stairs and into the lounge, smiling up at the tree.  The cottage was still and quiet, on what Pansy presumed to be Christmas morning.  She had always loved Christmas as a child, often spending part, if not all of the holidays with her closest friend growing up, who just so happened to be the owner of this cottage.  Feeling rather content with the idea of spending the day with him once again, she settled on the floor, with her head under the tree.

“What on Earth are you doing down there?” the unmistakable voice of Marcus asked her.  Smiling up at the twinkling lights, Pansy noticed Marcus cross the room, standing above her.  “Twinkling lights,” she replied, by way of explanation.

“I see,” Marcus commented, not sure he would understand while stood up.  Shrugging his shoulders, he lay down beside her, looking up at the lights.  

“Feeling okay?” he asked, grabbing Pansy’s hand and giving it a light squeeze.

“Best night’s sleep ever,” she replied.

Two pairs of feet came rushing down the stairs, causing Marcus and Pansy to smile.  “Um, what are you doing?” Scorpius asked, frowning at the pair under the tree.

“Twinkling lights,” Marcus replied as Pansy giggled.

“Fair enough,” shrugged Albus, as the pair scurried to join them on the floor.

 

A few moments later, Oliver came down the stairs to find the four of them under the tree.  Joining them, he took Marcus’s free hand in his own.  

“Do you know why we are lying here?” he asked, turning his head to look at his lover.  

“Twinkling lights,” Oliver replied, as though the answer was obvious.

 

Finally, Hermione and Draco padded down the stairs.  Pausing at the bottom, Draco turned to Hermione.  “Any idea what they are doing?” he whispered as she smiled affectionately at the group all lying side by side under the tree, their bodies creating a fan.

“Twinkling lights,” Hermione replied, with a knowing look, before tugging him over to the tree.  Laying down, Draco felt Scorpius grab hold of his hand.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“Merry Christmas, Scorp’,” he replied, returning the squeeze of his hand.

Turning his head to Hermione, he smiled, nudging her with his nose.

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” she replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to my good friend, Elle Martin, for allowing me to use her tradition of decorating the house while wearing santa hats as inspiration. The final scene was inspired by a scene from Greys Anatomy season one when Meredith, George and Izzy are lying under the tree looking at the twinkling lights. I hope you enjoyed the Christmassy feel of this chapter.


	13. Epilogue

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=11sed06)

**PTSD Research Progresses**

**January 2023**

Lavender Brown

LONDON — During a special holiday event for St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Draco Malfoy announced that he had successfully created a potion to help those who suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Although the specifics of the potion are confidential, Malfoy let it be known that the ingredients are similar to those found in stress-relieving tea. He will be donating his time and money to the research facility at St Mungo's.

When questioned, Mr Malfoy stated that it was due to personal circumstances that he took on the task of creating this tea-like substance.

"Growing up in the middle of the Second Wizarding War took its toll on all that were involved. For the past twenty years, individuals have suffered from the effects unable to find relief. I have several friends and family members that will benefit from the creation of this tea and the continued research within St Mungo's," Malfoy said.

Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World, sat down for an interview about the new research facility.

"I am over the moon about the research facility. I have a close friend who has suffered greatly since the end of the war. Not only will it benefit her, but several others who have suffered as well. I am truly grateful for the world Mr. Malfoy has put into this project," Potter said. When asked about the identity of his friend, he refused to comment.

Research within the closed ward in St Mungo's will start at the beginning of February with Malfoy leading the project.

* * *

**Gryffindor's Golden Girl Moves On**

**January 2023**

Lavender Brown

LONDON — Hermione Granger has been found residing in Brighton under the name Mia Gordon, running a bookshop. According to several sources, Granger has transferred ownership of the shop to associate and close friend, Pansy Parkinson. Reporters flocked the doors of the shop on Monday to find out why.

"I am moving to a small cottage in the Scottish Highlands with my boyfriend," Granger said. "I have been good friends with Pansy for a long time and trust her to take care of the bookshop. I am excited to embark on this new journey."

Pansy Parkinson was unavailable for comment, but Granger was seen leaving the bookshop with a blonde-haired man assumed to be Draco Malfoy.

Check out next week's Gossip Column for Hermione Granger's journey over the past year.

* * *

"Looks like we made the cover," Draco chuckled as Hermione picked up the magazine. She rolled her eyes as she turned to the article inside.

"A blond - haired man assumed to be Draco Malfoy," she read out loud, before tossing the article on the coffee table, tucking her feet up as she reached for the steaming mug of hot chocolate Draco handed to her. Settling on the sofa next to her, he pulled her feet out from under her causing her to giggle, laying them in his lap.

"You want to watch one of those black and white movies you love?" he asked her as he began to massage her feet.

"That would be lovely. One with a happy ever after," Hermione commented as she took a sip of hot chocolate, marshmallow coating her upper lip. She gave Draco a playful kick as he laughed at her, rising to put the DVD in the player.

"What about you, did you find your happy ever after?" he asked as she placed her mug on the coffee table before curling into Draco. He dropped a kiss to her forehead as he pressed play on the remote.

"You know what, I think I did," Hermione replied with a contented sigh.

FIN

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With thanks to the wonderful AlexandraO who collaborated with me to create these wonderful articles. All text in the articles belongs to her alone. I hope you have enjoyed this story x


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